Heroes
by Sarabibliomania
Summary: "And I'm a sixteen year old girl with a give 'em Hell attitude on the run from a government that wants to kill me," I said, droning it like a report I didn't want to make and my audience being too bored to hear it. "Throw in police record, a sense of humor that no one gets and it's not exactly a normal time now either. Different is what we aim for. Strange is what we get." OC
1. 101 Genesis

The track faintly vibrated under my feet and I swayed from foot to foot as I crossed over it, arms at my side and weighing down my balance. The vibration came harder and it jostled under my worn sneakers as if through sheer force of will it could for once and all make them come to pieces. Fat chance. If scaling the second floor ledge and a couple dozen barb wire fences wouldn't do it then I doubted a passenger train could. A whistle split my ears and the vibrations coursed up my legs and seized in my knees. Maybe a freight train. Or a monorail. It would have to be higher up for that though. And not in short stop Odessa, Texas. A roaring slammed down on top of me, wind dragging at my jeans and I jumped off to the side just as the train passed, a blur of red and brown whipping at my hair and tangling it over my face and between my fingers. Or maybe a Tram. But then again there was the difference between location and power. And the fact that I knew way too much about trains. The last cars passed and faded into a dot at the ending of the winding track and I turned from it and down the hill, sneakers crunching over the dying grass. The air was hazy with heat and I could hear cicadas just under the whistle of the train that was still fading. I dug my heels into the slope of hill to keep my grip and feeling the dirt getting through the cracks and into my socks with the back finally peeling free. And brought down by a gentle slope! A curse on both your sneakers. As if hearing the thought – or more likely my footsteps – Claire turned from where she was sitting halfway down the hill, dirt caked to her cheerleader uniform and putting question to the colours of it and its integrity as a whole. I stepped down beside her and sat down hard, the dirt as unforgiving in my shoes as on my ass and turned to follow her gaze up to where the sun was half hidden by the moon and turning everything dusty in its look. I draped my arms over my torn jeans and let the shortened nails skim over jean then knee then back to jean and the tiny threads holding it all together. Claire continued to stare at the sliver of light and I leaned over to rest my head on my shoulder and my knees pressing together to trap my fingers in between. She rested her head back against mine and adjusted it to sit more comfortably in the way we figured we best fit and the blonde fading naturally against my brunette. The moon passed and froze and a wind picked over my shoes and between my toes to chill the sweat you got used to after too long and hearing the cicadas again faded to the sound of me and Claire breathing and the train whistle still blowing mournfully in the distance.

"And then Carla had the nerve to tell me he's not breed worthy. Like he didn't win five all breed rallies; two regional's. Can you believe it?" Sandra's dinner buzz faded and I cautiously look up from my plate to see her expectedly watching me for a response. Mr. Muggles was also waiting and his beady eyes faded into the tufts of his fur like whenever he lost a couple strands he had them stuffed back in. Quickly I shook my head in agreement and her chatter resumed unabated, Mr. Muggles continuing to stare at me not satisfied and convinced of my turncoat as a traitor to dog breedings everywhere. Ugly dog but good substitute of a pom-pom if mine ever wore out. The chair slid out beside me as Claire sat down sliding the basket of rolls over to without me having to ask and I pulled one off the crumbled paper, winking at her in thanks. She smiled and lifted her glass to her lips, the unspoken ritual at the dinner table with the strict instructions of not interrupting Sandra during her dog breeding propaganda. Because Hellfire would rain if that went unheard.  
"He still humps my leg when I watch TV," Lyle injected, turning the meat potato unmentionables on his fork and clearly as skeptical as the rest of us. Though we had the decency and practice not to mention it.  
"All right. Enough about Mr. Muggles," Sandra finally surrendered, feeding the same unmentionables from her fingers to his greedy lips and glancing around at the three of us. "What did everyone else do today?"  
"Doug and I say this Mexican guy," Lyle piped up taking advantage of the opening. "A homeless dude. On the way to school. We thought he was dead, but he wasn't." Courtesy to our dinner conversation that this was better than Mr. Muggles daily update. I turned my food lazily over on my plate and matching Claire's movements, her eyes downcast and her shoulders sagged as if the world weighed itself on her shoulders and stealing her appetite. She felt me watching her and lifted her eyes to meet mine and I smiled somewhat to encourage her own and always one to please she returned it though it didn't fully touch her eyes.  
"So Jess. What about you? Anything exciting happen to you today?" Claire and I dropped our look and I returned it with Sandra's, Mr. Muggles again sampling from her fingers and his tongue looking like something between a cross of Alien and Care bear.  
"My shoes finally gave out," I shrugged, the monumental achievement not as par as five breed rallies but still mundane enough to fit the rest of the dinner conversation. "I had to walk home barefoot."  
"That's exciting," Lyle described sarcastically, eyebrows crooked and meat potato unmentionables still abandoned on the end of his fork.  
"Well it's not dead maybe not dead Mexican guy ...," I answered back with my own sarcasm and Claire smirking at the sound of it, head bowed to her plate but the lines of her cheeks deepened.  
"That's no good," Sandra surmised, ignoring the minor exchange and still feeding the Alien / Care bear unmentionable on her lap. "I'll have to run out to the store tomorrow and get you a new pair. Size six?" She looked up at me and I nodded, not overly hopeful on the style considering her choice of furry companion but trusting she loved me enough not to purchase something particularly mortifying. Shoes were shoes though and beggars can't be choosers.  
"So what about you Claire? Do anything special today?" Sandra turned her attention to her daughter who glanced up in her seat and chewed the nonexistent food in her mouth, looking like she'd give anything to be invisible and fade into the background of dog breeding and hobo talk.  
"I walked through fire and didn't get burned," she said in a rush, a deep breath ending her words and the rest of her sagging in her seat in relief of having said them. The table went quiet and I laid my fork over the side of my plate as quietly as I could to not make a sound and my heart rate suddenly too fast as I waited to hear what was next.  
"What the Hell is that supposed to be?" Lyle demanded, brows furrowed and almost buried in his forehead and all the maturity of a fourteen year old found in that one sentence. "God you're so crazy sometimes."  
"Lyle," Sandra chided, turning her attention back to Claire and the look of her frozen in her seat. "I think I know exactly what you mean. Oh, here I am talking dogs again and you go and say something really profound." Claire's shoulders sank and I could feel my own lift as I again picked up my fork and turned over the potato / meat to see if it was any more appealing on the other side ... nope. "We come up against all kinds of fires in our lives. And when we test ourselves and face those fears, we usually don't get burned. You are very wise sweetheart. Whatever it is you did, I'm proud of you. And so is Mr. Muggles." Her voice took on a high pitched baby talk tone and she turned affectionately to the ball of tufted fur in her arms. "He is just so proud of Claire. Aren't we? We're proud of Claire. Yes, we're so proud of Claire, aren't we? She's the best." Okay. Moment over.

The water echoed loudly in the curve bottom of the sink and Claire passed me a half soaked plate to dry and the wet edge of it curving a faint stain onto the front of my shirt. I wiped over the droplets with the checkered cloth in my other hand and set it on the pile of dishes that stood waiting to be stacked on my right hand side. My master piece.  
"I was thinking we could go to the movies on Saturday," Sandra was saying from the other room, the water running almost drowning out the sound of her voice and Mr. Muggles expectedly sitting at my feet as if waiting for a special treat for his existence. Arrogant rat with fur. "Maybe we could try on some shoes at Gardendale. Jess can help me pick out a pair." I scooted Mr. Muggles away with my foot but he scurried back when the threat was abated and again settled on my toes, paw raised and pressed pleadingly to my ankle. Mooching, arrogant rat with fur.  
"Sure," Claire agreed, raising her voice over the water and handing me a glass and my hand barely fitting inside to dry, cloth gathered at the top and like one of those decorative center pieces Sandra sometimes put out at thanksgiving.  
"I love you mom," Claire suddenly said, her voice lowered as if only half certain of wanting to say it and what would inevitably come next.  
"But?" Sandra asked, taking her up on the hint.  
"No buts," Claire shrugged, handing me a soapy dish with dried potato still stuck on and my own skills coming into question as I tried scraping at it with a shortened fingernail. "I just wanted to tell you that." Sandra's footsteps came into the kitchen and Mr. Muggles rushed over to her side, hoping for a warmer reception and his tiny toenails skittering against the panelled floors.  
"No, you think I'm trying to be your best friend again," Sandra guessed and leaning against the counter as I silently admitted defeat and re handed the dish to Claire to clean and my fingernails red and aching in the effort. "And I know you have Jess for that." I silently pumped my fist in recognition of my role.  
"No, it's ... it's alright we can go to the movies together," Claire quickly said, sponge absent in her hand and soap dripping down her fingers. "It's no big deal."  
"I just ... miss you. That's all. Both of you," Sandra admitted, suddenly sounding sad and my inner dinner monologue about her and Mr. Muggles now weighing heavily in my stomach. "I want to be your mom. I want to give you advice." Claire pulled the drain and switched on the garbage disposal, the sound of it humming quietly in the pipes. "But I don't want to push you away."  
"I want advice I do," Claire insisted, wrestling with her ring and the red of it flashing in the kitchen light. "I won't push you away I promise." She pulled for extra effort and it twisted and popped off her finger, dropping to the bottom of the still damp sink and into the garbage disposal still humming smugly. Without hesitating she reached her hand in after it and the hum turned to grinding and her jaw tightening with pain. My stomach clenched at the sound and look and I brushed past her to the switch and quickly turned it off, bubbles from my touch collapsing on the frame. She gingerly pulled her arm out as Sandra resumed talking from the other room and blood dripping from her mangled fingers that as soon as I saw them righted themselves almost in confessed embarrassment and fading out the blood on her skin. I gagged in the back of my throat but nonetheless turned her hand into mine still holding the dish cloth and urging on the healing against the checkered back drop as if it were a stage and the curtain was about to rise.  
" ... I wanted to be something more interesting then I am," Sandra finished, coming back into the kitchen and expectedly waiting for us as Claire hid her still reforming hand behind her back and I folded the towel so it hid the blood stains inside.  
"You are interesting," Claire promised, her other hand reaching behind and turning off the water so the rush of it stopped. "You breed show dogs. Whose mom does that?" I nodded in solemn agreement, biting back a nervous laugh.  
"No, I wanted to hitchhike across Europe," Sandra continued, not taking the hint and folding and refolding her fingers together in her struggle not to relapse into doggy bragging. "Study art. Fall in love with some poetry quoting Frenchman." She chuckled slightly, briefly losing herself in the forbidden thought. "Not that your father isn't wonderful. But my point is that you should know who you are and know that it's enough. 'Cause who you are is special. Both of you." She affectionately touched her fingers under my chin and I despite myself smiled, more touched then I wanted to let on.  
"About that ...," Claire hesitated, the faint drip of blood on the floor fading and the tiny splotches almost invisible against the darkened coat. "There's something that I need to say. Something I never talked about 'cause I thought it would upset you and dad."  
"Sweetheart, you can say anything to us you know that," Sandra promised, fingers laced and at her chest as I turned to set the cloth back on the counter and assuring myself that her hand was again healed.  
"I think I'm old enough for you to tell me who my real parents are," Claire quietly answered, tears almost in her voice and her eyes downcast as if ashamed to have to say it but not wanting to take it back. Sandra looked at her for a moment before carefully stepping forward and pulling her into her arms and tenderly holding her against her chest.  
"Of course you are," she assured and meeting my eyes over Claire's shoulders in the silent confirmation that I already knew. I did. I always did. The front door opened and closed with a series of footsteps loud in between.  
"Honey! I'm home," Mr Bennet called from the front door and Sandra tearfully pulled away from Claire and lightly touched her shoulders as if afraid to touch her.  
"Your father," she confirmed and turned away and into the hallway, wiping her nose as she did and her hair frizzy in the light. Claire's shoulders gave and she turned back to me with a relieved gasp, the sound of licking interrupting the moment and the two of us looking down to see Mr. Muggles eagerly licking up the fallen blood.  
"Ah God," I exclaimed, moving him away with my foot and him simply moving around it to resume, Claire kneeling at my feet and pushing him away with her hands and wiping up the spilt blood with the cloth from the counter. Mr. Muggles snorted with displeasure and haughtily scurried into the next room, toes proudly scratching on the wood. Nah, not good enough to be a rat.  
"I can see why you hate him," Claire laughed somewhat, standing and wiping her hands on the cloth and the bloodstains smeared between the red and blue. I laughed with her and took her hand, turning it over in my own and not even certain if I had the right one the shape of them again identical with not even a trace of blood left to indicate where it had been mangled.  
"Jess here?" Mr. Bennet asked from the next room and Claire and I put on our best matching smiles and walked side by side from the kitchen and into the awaiting hallway.  
"Hi, daddy," Claire called as her steps increased past mine and she held her arms out to him as he turned from the coat rack and entangled his own through hers.  
"Hey baby," he smiled and rested his head against hers and softly rocking her as I stopped several feet from where they stood and hanging my arms down at my sides. They pulled apart with the smile now less forced on her face and his attention now turned towards me.  
"I don't get a hug?" He asked, knees bent somewhat in the accommodation of my size and his eyes somewhat hurt that he had to ask before I gave. I forced my own smile back to my lips and stepped closer and linked my arms around his back so the fine lines of his suit crackled against my face. He lowered his arms around me and held me for a short moment as I silently counted down the seconds for it to be over and finally cautiously stepped away.

I dropped my knapsack onto the floor and kicked it to its spot against the bed post and where my quilt lay half collapsed on the floor. I bent and gathered the soft edges of it and heaved it back onto my bed where it crunched against the books and papers I had scattered over my bed and mom long ago gave up on getting me to clean. Besides who didn't love sounding like a mariachi band whenever they rolled over at night? I dropped onto the mattress and pulled off my peeling shoes and dirt sprinkling the carpet from their remains and a promise of a new pair making them seem more mangled then they actually were. Brought down by a gentle slope. Not on par with the pair last summer lost to a half hearted attempt at track but less exciting then the year before it when Claire and I went swimming and forgot where we left our clothes. I tossed them to the corner of the room, narrowly missing the garbage can and again stood, pulling my shirt up and over my head and to the array of coloured clothes scattered over my floor. I let my shoulders drop and my head roll as the tension seized in my neck and relented down my spine. I felt it fade and replaced with a sudden cool touch through my muscles and to my toes and fingers, my hair briefly standing on end and my skin prickled as it sunk back in. I close my eyes and let it adjust like a second skin I hadn't yet shed and piece by piece again refitting until it felt my own again and opened my eyes. I turned to the mirror half covered in clothes on the wall and illuminating my stuffed bed and coloured walls that Claire and I filled with inside jokes and nicknames and my floor that was never cleaned and my bag fallen face first to it and finally myself – absent from the reflection.


	2. 102 Don't Look Back

"Dad," Claire started, finger biting between her teeth and looking over the folded newspaper splayed out in front of her. I lifted my eyes from my eggs to watch her as Mr. Bennet also looked up from the sizzling batter of half made pancakes and the rim of his glasses catching off the light. "You mind if I talk to you about something?" I laid down my fork on the side of the plate with egg still on the prongs and tensed myself to wait for what she would ask next. Couldn't finish a meal around here without a possible life changing topic coming up.  
"You pregnant?" Mr. Bennet asked, bringing the pitcher of juice over to the table and pouring Claire a glass.  
"What?" Claire asked voice suddenly high pitched. "No."  
"Jess pregnant?" He gestured to me with the pitcher and the juice jostling inside with the threat. Who, me?  
"No," Claire smiled, his attempts at cheering her up not going unhindered.  
"You doing drugs?" He tried again; filling up my own glass and stopping it off less then inch from the top at the height he practiced making it to.  
"Dad," Claire protested, head titled to her shoulder and her hair pillowed in the effect.  
"Jess doing drugs?" He handed me back my glass and smiling at the success of his four step joke. I stared back in exaggerated displeasure and ignored my over full glass in demonstration of the fact. In case he didn't get the message from my facial expression.  
"No," Claire laughed, taking her own glass and sipping deeply from the frosted glass.  
"Actually ... I already know what it's about," he answered, putting us out of our misery and returning to the oven and unattended frying pan.  
"You do?" Claire asked, turning from the table and skeptical as I was whether or not we were all thinking the same thing.  
"It's about wanting to know who you really are," he said, wiping his hands on the dish cloth and the light still glinting off the edges of his glasses. "Your mother told me that you've been asking about your birth parents." I picked up my fork again – crisis averted – and scrapped at the remains of egg and still pointedly ignoring the glass.  
"Well, I think it's time that I knew," Claire walked over to stand in front of him, the topic still sincere to her and obvious only to someone who knew how to read her as well as I did.  
"Well I have some questions first," he pressed further, batter again sizzling and popping bubbles in the pan. "Not least of which is why now."  
"I'm just wondering, that's all," Claire shrugged off; face only half turned to me and the light lightly glittering off the thin layer of lip glossed she applied. "You know, what they're like, what they can do and stuff."  
"What they can do?" He asked, head again raised and curiosity peaked.  
"Yeah like hobbies and ... stuff," Claire faltered, not as rehearsed in her questions as she'd hoped and the evidence showing through.  
"I can fit my whole fist in my mouth," I spoke out, the two of them glancing over at me and no doubt ecstatic that I took the time to enter the conversation. "Mom can't so I guess it's not hereditary." Claire grinned and Mr. Bennet bowed his head to hide his own, practiced enough by my odd sense of humor to hide his enjoyment in it when his age would deem it inappropriate.  
"I don't mean this to sound condescending," he said, taking the conversation around my minor outburst and walking around the Island to where I sat and flipping the pancake onto my plate and onto my remains of eggs and ketchup. They died bravely. "Even though you're going to say that I'm being condescending. But I really do believe that this is an adult decision."  
"You're right. That is condescending," Claire agreed, returning to the table and leaning against the corner of it.  
"Claire, there are going to be issues. You're going to have issues," he turned to her, frying pan and spatula still gripped in his hand like an odd set of instruments – or weapons depending on how the conversation finished. "They're going to have issues. It's a very complex, emotionally."  
"Well, yeah, so am I," Claire protested, me being the only one finding the irony in her words.  
"Well exactly," he agreed, holding out her plate to her and the pancakes pointedly lay out on top. She took it from him and set it down on the table, taking a tip from my food / drink refusal and Mr. Bennet noting it with a tilt of his eyebrows. "Look here's my advice if you'll indulge me. Just ... keep things light and fun as long as you can. Like cheerleading." I snorted. He ignored me though Claire indulged me with a grin.  
"Being a cheerleader is hard work," she objected, the seriousness of her tone ruined by the half laugh that I encouraged. "Hard, treacherous work."  
"Of course it is sweetheart," he finally agreed, picking us in the joke and leaning against the island with a fond smile on his lips.  
"We don't want to be late," she confessed, breaking the moment and I for once didn't complain about her need to always be on time and grabbed my pancake to go, rolling it up in my hand and guessing the sound I would get on it if I temporarily turned it into a tuba. He stopped her for a moment, hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek as she briefly closed her eyes in the tender moment.  
"I just don't you to be in such a hurry to grow up, okay? Either of you," He turned to show he meant me too, catching me with my rolled pancake in my mouth and chewing my instrument to waste. "Trust me. I actually know a few things." Claire scoffed good naturally and walked around where he stood and to link her arm through mine. I followed her lead, still chewing my pancake and glanced back as Mr. Bennet stood by the now empty island and slowly turning my glass, the juice of it still untouched.

I opened my locker and pulled out my sweater, the edges of it frayed and caught on one of the rings of my binder and unravelling it even farther. I untangled it and shoved the binder back in the dark and unexplored depths of my locker and tugged my gym shirt over my head, the scent of it of sweat and too many washes on a discount detergent. I crammed it in past the binders and – huh, half eaten candy bar – turned the sweater over in my hands and the threads that had come lose at the bottom. Giggling interrupted my oh so deep thoughts and I looked over to see two girls with names I'd never bothered to learned sitting across from me and glancing at me to suggest that they wanted me to know I was the one they were talking about but hiding it all the same. They turned away, giggling louder but voices indistinct like they had to decide between the two and sacrificed the effort of stringing words for the high pitched hyena sounds that echoed off the tile. I turned back, righting my sweater right way out and pulling it over my head so the static ate my hair and made it stand out bigger. The giggles got louder at this point though in all honesty it may not have been the reason. The obvious wear and tear to all my clothes and otherwise school supplies, the fact that Claire was my only real friend, the abrasiveness to my personality that sometimes even wore me thin ... take your pick. Jeopardy theme. The door banged open and they both simultaneously jumped as one of the other girls from class poked her head in and scanned the room until finally resting her eyes on me.  
"Jamie you're wanted on the field," she delivered, gesturing behind her – though the field was on the other side – and ducking out again before I could make some comment around the fact that my name wasn't actually Jamie. The girls snickered almost painfully now, their whispers now fueled by the scandalous notion of being called to field. It was notorious for its scandalousness. I slammed my locker shut and locked it, holding onto the metal for a second and letting my insides relax as coolness settled in my bones and sinking deeper and deeper still. It gathered suddenly in a frigid pulse and energy vibrated briefly in the room and sent the girls falling back against the tile and their skirts, hair and papers all in disarray. They both shrieked, holding their hair down – viewing it more important than the obvious nature that one wasn't wearing underwear – and I walked out and past them, smirking.

I balanced back and forth on Claire's new sneakers, the faded black marker written on the side visible when I titled and the words "Claire and Jess" still half scrawled over the laces. Claire looked uneasily down the line of cheerleaders, hands tangled behind her and the wind pulling loose the strands of her ponytail. I rested my feet firmly again on solid ground and reached over to lace my fingers through hers, my shortened nail working its way gently back and forth over her palm in an attempt to comfort her. She took the hint and a deep breath, tightening her grip and standing closer so that from a distant it wasn't obvious that we were holding hands and that deep down she was scared.  
"Girls!" A voice boomed down the line and I leaned forward to see the Sheriff step forward in front of the Principal and a man I didn't know, the sun glinting off his cheeks and from even here showing off that he was sweating. "This isn't a ... criminal investigation. Nobody in here is in any trouble." Give it a day or two, I guarantee I would be. "Quite the contrary. There just happens to be a very grateful man lying in the hospital who'd like to thank one of you for ... saving his life yesterday." Claire glanced down at him for a moment before returning her eyes forward in perceived nonchalance but her hand tightening in mine nonetheless.  
"I've never seen anyone so reluctant to be called a hero," Principal Marks observed, skeptical as the rest of us that anyone even remotely wearing a cheerleader uniform would be unwilling to inflate their ego even if it meant in the name of human decency. Except Claire. I had my moments. "You sure it's one of our cheerleaders?"  
"The uniform said Union Wells High," the man next to him said, walkie talkie pinned to his shirt and clean press to it suggesting that was someone involved in the conversation. "I'd have to say it was ... her on the end. The blonde." The cheerleader's heads turned in unison to stare down at Claire as she looked at me in sudden panic and I looked down the line beside me to continue the illusion to see no one there and jolting in mock surprise.  
"That's Claire Bennet," Principal Marks explained, hands on hips and squinting to make sure he got the right one.  
"Claire!" Sheriff called and she reluctantly turned to face him, finger nails superiorly better kept then mine digging half moons into my palm. "Where'd you go yesterday after cheerleading practice?" Her mouth opened slightly and no sound came out, my mind suddenly blank of any answer to cut in for her and explain where she might have been.  
"I, uh ...," she started, at a loss and waiting for me to fill in for her as I always did but no words coming to mind. Great ... the one time I stop thinking.  
"It wasn't her," Jackie suddenly cut in, stepping in front to block us from view and the world growing cold in the shadow. "It was me." Claire's eyes widened, her mouth still half open and her hand going slack in mine. "I was taking a short cut home from school and ... I saw the wreckage of the train ... wreck. And ... I just had to help." Her voice took on a sincerity that in my ears went mock and I rolled my eyes in unison to her words.  
"Why didn't you say something?" Principal Marks asked, skeptical as I was.  
"I guess I didn't want all the attention, you know? That's not why I did it." I scoffed loudly and Jackie turned to glare at me, my life mockingly flashing in front of my eyes. Diapers, pig tails, boobs, Mr. Muggles propaganda, pancake tuba and ... now! Well worth the trip.  
"... Congratulate you as an honorary firefighter," the fireman was saying, shaking Jackie's hand and the rest of the girls breaking into high pitched giggles and cheering, feet bouncing off the ground and clearly demonstrating the purpose of the shortened skirt. Oh blow me. Claire let go off my hand and apprehensively walked over to the fireman and ignoring the girls all gathered around Jackie as if she were their savior and tangled her fingers in the length of her sleeve.  
"How is he?" She asked, hair to one side and golden in the afternoon sun.  
"Who?" The fireman asked, already forgetting.  
"The man Jackie pulled out of the train," she said, gesturing to the swarm of girls half ready to lift her onto their shoulders and parade her around the field.  
"He's got some pretty bad burns," he said, now recalling. "Smoke damage to his lungs, but ... he's alive. Happy to be so." Claire smiled, obviously relieved.  
"Thanks to Jackie," she said, the hurt in her voice to the credit she took only audible to those who were listening and my heart pulling at the sound.

"Claire!" Zach called, his voice barely audible over the sound of the frequent whistle and football players slamming into each other, red and white colors blurring in together and reminiscent of the cheerleaders uniforms because how else would people knew what team they cheered for if not for the planned out color coded design?  
"Claire! I'm glad I finally got you alone," he panted, finally coming up to meet us and his backpack precariously draped over his shoulder from his run.  
"Hey!" I protested, mockly offended on account that for the moment I wasn't invisible and actually looked nice for once, hair recovered from its static shock cling and on the arm of a pretty girl.  
"Hey Jess," he conceded, seeing that I walked beside Claire and that my arm was linked through hers.  
"'Sup," I said in reply.  
"Did you hear that they asked Jackie to be the Grand Marshall of the pioneer parade?" Claire demanded, arm not occupied with mine gesturing angrily at the field and the sweaty men occupying it. "They're gonna put her on top of the fire truck. They should put her under the fire truck."  
"I love when you talk dirty," I praised and she grinned, allowing herself a moment alone from her frustration.  
"It's about the video tape," Zach interrupted in harsh whisper, leaning closer so no one else could hear.  
"What?" Claire asked, not fully listening and sweeping her hair back from her face and ever loosening ponytail.  
"The video tape!" Zach repeated, losing it a little bit. "The tape where you're killing yourself like twenty times." I was thinking of something else entirely.  
"Oh, yeah, that," Claire said, remembering. "Can we maybe just keep that under wraps?"  
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," he insisted, grabbing Claire by the arm and turning her to face him and forgetting that I was still attached and jerking me like a spontaneous square dance. "It was in my backpack and now it's not."  
"What?" Claire asked, not hearing right and giving him the chance to correct himself.  
"It's gone," Zach admitted, licking his lips nervously and tightening his fingers on his strap.  
"What?" I demanded, dropping my arm from Claire's and for the first time in remembrance losing my cool. "How could it be gone?" A grunt hit hard next to me and Claire was gone, a bulk of red and white hitting and knocking her to the ground where she rolled and settled just a couple feet away. My heart stopped anyway and I ran to where she fell, something off about the way she landed, her head turned to face me but her chest flat despite the distinct memory of her first excited discovery of breasts and ... oh her head had snapped around. I cringed inwardly as her eyes opened and Zach dramatically gagged next me, her head twisting right way around and the movement like a dozen bones nosily moving together which ... it kind of was.  
"Oh my God!" The bulk yelled, pulling off his helmet and revealing Brody Mitchum underneath and his hair sweated from exertion. Breaking a girl's neck would do that ... "Claire! I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" He knelt delicately at her side to take her hands and lift her but anger pulsed in my blood – he had just nearly killed my best friend – and I jogged over to where they were standing and dusted the grass stains off her sleeves and skirt.  
"Yeah. I'm okay. I'm alright," she grunted, mimicking the sound of someone who had just survived – ha ha – a hit and helping me pluck grass off her thigh. "Yeah. You just caught me off guard."  
"I thought I heard something snap," he insisted, obviously confused as she stretched her arm behind her and flattening your hair.  
"The gears of your brain finally gave up and cracked," I answered through my teeth and he turned to look at me, clearly taken back and looked me up in down in confusion that I had said what I did or if he imagined them somewhere lost in the cob webs of his pretty little head.  
"I'm fine!" Claire interrupted, hand taking my arm to raise it in shared celebration of her survival and turning so the rest of the field could visualize it themselves. "I'm okay!" Cheers echoed scattered across the field and several girls – in and out of uniform – dramatically pressed their hands to their chests in relief that she had not been hurt. A whistle sounded and the crowd started to disperse, Brody still standing in front of us and pondering over what I said and eyes dramatically darkening as it sunk in what I really did. Atta boy.  
"Yeah, no scratch on me," Claire professed, lowering our clasped hands but keeping them entwined, her other held out in a balancing act so he could get a better look.  
"Guess you're not so dainty after all," Brody half laughed, recovered from my insult and looking her over carefully with a faint blush reddening his cheeks. Ah lust.  
"I'm dainty enough," Claire teased, hand on her hip and my unoccupied one on my own so for a moment we looked like a conjoined twin and confusing him again in the appearance. He nodded, breathlessly grinning – brain power was on the top of its game today – and sprinting away to join the others, his run giving nice breadth to the shape of his ass. If only he weren't so dumb ... Claire dropped her flirtatious smile and pulled me along beside her, steps determined and hard on the grass as Zach cowered slightly where we had left him.  
"We have got to get that tape," she insisted through her teeth and he swallowed hard, licking his lips again and sweat dotting the base of his neck. She turned – again pulling me with her – and girlishly cheered as she jogged back to where they cheerleaders gathered and with me reluctant to trail behind. They cheered with her – hence the name – and shook their pom poms in celebration as she briefly disappeared in the folds, a blur of red and white and now gold that she fit into better as I dragged my feet and slowly followed behind.

I scooped the ice cream out of the cartoon and slid it out of the curved ice cream scoop and into the bowl, flecks of vanilla and Oreo spraying up and already melting on the sides. I sucked on my fingers and dug in deeper to the cartoon, the cardboard sides of it collapsing under my vigorously hold and deciding that life wasn't worth living if it was to be treated so harshly. Something soft touched at my ankle and I glanced down to see Mr. Muggles on raised paws waiting at my feet for his own helping, eyes bug like but hungry staring up at me and tongue hanging lazily out of his jaw. I moved him back with my foot and dunked the other scoop into the bowl as he returned and avoiding the threat of movement by sitting on the weapon – my foot – itself. Great. Either he was getting smarter or I was getting dumber. Footsteps echoed on the tile and recognizing the sound Mr. Muggles bounded off to find their source back stepping back in as Sandra walked into the kitchen, a small cardboard box balanced in her hands.  
"What you doing?" She asked, dropping her purse onto the chair and the box onto the table.  
"Getting ice cream for me and Claire," I answered, sucking on my fingers again and moving aside the now full bowl to signify it was done. "We're going to eat some and watch a movie."  
"And do your homework at one point?' She asked, eyebrow raised to suggest the seriousness of her suggestion.  
"Of course. Education is everything," I fluttered my eye lashes several times to prove my innocence and she turned away grinning, like Mr. Bennet finding me amusing but not in her good conscience allowed to demonstrate her the fact. No wonder my self esteem was so low.  
"Anyway I went out shopping today and I got you something," She opened the box and slid it over to me, carefully avoiding the one full, one empty bowl. I shoved them aside less carefully and reached inside the tissue paper to pull out a pair of brand new red and white running sneakers, glitter decorated off the ends of the laces.  
"I thought you might like if I got them in the school colours," she confessed, twisting her fingers in her sleeves and suddenly nervous. "You like them?" I put the pair back into the crinkled pair and leaned across the table to hug her, crushing her to my chest and the scent of dog product and some fresh smelling perfume that I had for so long associated with something happy like family. She wrapped her arms around me as well and I held her for a moment where I didn't have to think about laughing girls or frayed sweaters or the sight of my best friend with her head turned around and the look in the mirror showing that I wasn't in it.  
"I love them," I answered, the words muffled on her shirt and the beads that hung around her neck that I made for her as I gift when I was nine and she insisted on keeping and wearing almost every day since. "Thank you."  
"You're welcome sweetie," she kissed my forehead and pulled away, hands on my cheeks and the tears I felt hatefully in my eyes. She wiped one carefully as to not admit she saw it and smiled, the wrinkles creased in her cheeks when she did but something warm and comforting about the fact. "You're welcome." The office glass door creaked open and Claire walked out, holding onto the handle as she hesitated not sure if she was interrupting.  
"Should I go?" She asked, uncertain and glancing between the two of us.  
"Technically it is your house ...," I pointed out, snarky attitude returned and wiping at the last of the tears that escaped in the pretense of brushing back my hair when really moving it to cover my face. It was a complicated maneuver.  
"Technically it's your father's house," Sandra reminded us, picking up the act as well and moving the box and tissue onto the chair. "We just let you stay with us."  
"Ha ha," Claire sarcastically responded, closing the door behind her and walking over to the island. "That mine?" She pulled at the full bowl of ice cream and already started to fiddle with the spoon in the frozen contents, the ice already beginning to melt and dripping down the sides.  
"It is. And I get the rest," I held up the nearly empty cartoon to demonstrate "my serving" and Claire wrinkled her nose at me to hide her grin as I dunked my spoon into the mass and with such declaration making it mine. I now dub this ice cream mine in the name of me. You may eat.  
"Alright well just don't stay up too late," Sandra insisted, turning into the fridge and Mr. Muggles patiently waiting at her side as to not to trip up his master. I was not worthy of such consideration. "You two have school tomorrow and presumably homework to finish for it." Claire grunted through her mouthful of ice cream and I ducked around Sandra to get past and to the hallway, moving by the table as I did so and trying not to notice that the glass I had left untouched from this morning was still standing lonely and full waiting for me on the surface.


	3. 103 One Giant Leap

I jogged down the stairs, light catching off my glittered shoe laces that I had unsuccessfully tried to scrape off and blinding me in short bursts. What luck would I have if it blinded me entirely and caused me to trip and fall to my death? "She died by glittered shoe laces" my tomb stone would say. Tragic as it may be I'd like to see anyone else try and top that. I reached the bottom step and jumped the inches of space onto the carpet and spun around the side so the carpet fell in disarray and marked how much further I had landed this time then the last. The far corner was almost touching the opposite wall now. Any day now the two of them would finally meet and their tragic forbidden love story would be at peace. Of course I could just cheat and move the carpet to the wall but where was the fun in that? Nowhere that's there.  
"Jessie?" I paused and turned at the sound of my old nickname to see mom sitting at the kitchen table with the coffee mug I made her in second grade steaming in front of her and obviously its purpose gone and fulfilled. "Can we talk for a minute?"  
"Yeah, sure," I said, folding my arms in front of me in a perceived polite way but secretly thinking how out of routine this was when our daily conversations consisted of "Morning" and "Night." She stared at me for a moment, waiting for me to make a move even thought she had been the one to initiate the conversation.  
"Would you like to sit?" She gestured at one of the chairs and I walked over to sit in it, the chair legs scrapping against the floor loudly and the seat of it hard and uncomfortable on my ass. I waited for her to continue and I could see her waiting for me to do the same, chipped nails scratching at the wood surface and the frayed edges of her bath robe covering the bones of her wrists.  
"Don't you have work?" I asked, asking the first thing I could think of which was a blessing in itself as I also had "Why do we need to know math if have the girls on the cheerleading team were going to end up being strippers?" or "What was the greenish white stain on the living room cushion?"  
"Half day they're doing renovations in the factory," she answered with a smile and I tried to return it but it didn't feel natural enough and I stopped before I could fully commit. "Thought I'd get some paperwork done."  
"That's very noble," I congratulated, this time smiling on my own terms though she didn't return it. She didn't understand sarcasm and even if she did she wouldn't show it or at the very least poorly hide it. The clock ticked noisily behind us and I counted down the ticks as it moved across the numbers.  
"Well, look at the time," I startled, jumping to my feet and tripping on the chair legs so that I nearly fell face first into the table top. Bravo. Well done. On a scale of one to ten fail you are at negative 217.  
"Already?" She asked, hiding her relief well and turning to the clock to squint at the hands still ticking across the surface. "Doesn't school start at 8:30?"  
"Yeah but I have to help Claire with the mascot and ... it's really a two person job," I explained, fumbling over the words so that impressively it made the truth actually sound like a lie. Bravo, Jess way to be.  
"Well maybe tonight we can talk some more," she insisted, half standing and eager again to keep the conversation going. Which between the two of us and by our definition it actually was.  
"I can't we have the game tonight and then a bonfire after so it would be kind of an awkward place for a conversation," I tried smiling again but something was wrong with my facial muscles and it fell through half hearted as it was. She stared at me for a moment, not getting the joke and in that moment I hated us both – me for trying and for her not understanding.  
"Well I think you can take one night off to talk with your mom," she said, her own smile uneasy but bordering on desperate. "You can cheer anytime I think they'd understand. I never see you anymore." She ran her finger over the peeling finish and it scrapped nosily at the cracks in it that were coming off in chips and Claire and I once played at seeing who could peel the biggest one.  
"I guess I could talk to coach," I caved, not knowing what else to say and caught between the desire to bolt from the house and stay rooted to the spot so I could hold onto the awkward moments to fill a place of the empty ones. She smiled more honestly this time.  
"Good. Okay good. I'll make some dinner and whip up some desert on the way home. Make a night of it," her smile became breathless as if she were holding it and I tried to return it though it again didn't quite work and fell like the others. I was out of practice.  
"Okay, awesome I'll see you after school," I said, turning around the table before she could say anything else and half bolting to the door – forgetting my bag and having to go back and retrieve it.

"Nice shoes Jess!" One of the cheerleaders – Amber or something – called, giggling over her comedic timing and turning to watch as walked, hand on her hip and jutting it out so it became a safety hazard for anyone in the general vicinity. "Finally deciding to show some school spirit?"  
"Nice boob job. Who paid for it: your daddy or your sugar daddy?" I answered back, loud enough that she could hear but quiet enough that it still sounded mysterious and comedic inside my head.  
"Least I've got one of each," she responded, smirk on her lips and now fully turned so that she could gauge my reaction. I swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry and didn't turn back to face her or give any reaction that I heard. Ouch you did your homework on that one.  
"I don't like him ...," I could hear Claire saying, facing Mr. Bennet and fingers fiddling with her bag straps across her chest and drawing attention to it more then I already was.  
"Who the quarter back?" I asked, stopped in front of them and successfully entering the conversation with minimal harm done and rewarded by my efforts with a comically horrified look from Claire and an "I told you so" one from Mr. Bennet.  
"Thanks," she congratulated sarcastically, sweeping back my hair and I grinned. And we're back!  
"I love your glasses, Mr. Bennet," Jackie loudly declared, suddenly standing next to me and a large fake grin plastered to her lips. And ... we're gone.  
"Thank you, Jackie," Mr. Bennet answered, flattered nonetheless though I rolled my eyes at Claire and she turned away to hide her smile. "Rumor has it you're a local hero. Pulled a man out of a burning train car."  
"You heard about that?" Jackie asked, now all bashful and fiddling with her own bag strap. Claire did it better. "O-M-G, does everybody know?"  
"It was on the news. You told half the school to set their TIVO's," Claire pointed out through gritted teeth and her maintained smile so that anyone would bubble head intelligence couldn't tell if she were being snarky or not. Which funnily enough included Jackie.  
"It was on after your sex tape," I smirked and Claire snorted, turning it into a cough and looking away so we wouldn't notice. Jackie turned to shoot daggers at me and Mr. Bennet adjusted the paper mâché mascot over his shoulder and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.  
"Anyway ...," she said deliberately and through her teeth and again the picture of polite and modest. Which usually didn't come in the form of a blonde high school cheerleader. "It's going to be the cornerstone of my campaign for class president. I'm running on a platform of moral, mental, social advancement through good deeds. What do you think?" She stuck her tongue between her teeth – good thinking – and grinned so it balanced between looking comical and a little flirtatious.  
"Sounds awesome. Who's running?" I wondered innocently and she again turned, jaw tightening against words she couldn't say or had brain cells enough to think up. She forced a smile instead and nodded in farewell to Mr. Bennet and Claire before stalking off, short skirt fluttering around the back of her thighs. Gotta love cheerleaders.  
"I think I gotta get something out of my locker," Claire decided, breaking the uncomfortable moment – though going off the others I had today it didn't come in the top ten – and taking mascot from Mr. Bennet, ugly scratched face peaking through the dented helmet. I helped her take the weight so we could balance it and the heavy arm knocking into my chest. Pervert.  
"Hey," Mr. Bennet stopped and leaned over to quickly peck Claire on the cheek and turn to me, the mass of hardened tissue and glue stuffed between us and his routine affection gone unfulfilled. He nodded, accepting the intervention of fate and I held onto the mascot's middle tighter and started to haul him away with Claire.  
"Jess!" He called and I turned, hair catching over my face and loosening my grip so I could sweep it back and hold the curling strands locked between my fingers. He looked lonely standing there, teenagers milling around him and taking no notice of the middle aged man in glasses who stood amongst them. I waited for him to say something and for a moment I didn't think he would, thinking things over and unsure whether to say them or keep them silent in a place where they could be ignored and hopefully one day faded and forgotten.  
"Be careful," he finally said, shoulders sagged that his moment of courage was gone and replacing it with other words that didn't need saying and I probably wouldn't follow even if they did. "Both of you." He gestured to Claire as well who nodded and tightened her hands on the rope to hoist the mascot higher over her shoulder, leaving me no choice but to turn as well and help her carry it towards out lockers.

"So do you want to sit together on the bus or do you want to hang out with your new best friend – Jackie?" Claire asked, unlocking her locker and swinging it open so the inside of the door came into view and the papered surface of it covered in pictures and drawings of the two of us dating back to when we were eight and we thought stick figures were as high an art form as you could possibly get.  
"Actually neither. I can't go tonight," I leaned back against the opposite locker and felt the grooves dig through my shirt and into my back. "Mom wants to have dinner so she asked if I could cancel and stay home."  
"That's random," she observed, rummaging through her books and pulling out one with the word "Geometry" written across the front. She was a woman of few words after all. "Can't you just say no?"  
"I could – except I already said yes. And I hate sending mixed signals," I professed, sighing dramatically and leaning farther against the metal with my ankles crossed and stretched out in hopes that maybe I'd be able to trip someone on their way past. I was evil in the mornings. "Besides. I kind of feel like I owe it to her. I'm never home anyway and this would give us a chance to talk." Unless it went like this morning and I ended up contemplating the top ten ways to kill myself with whatever tools we had on hand. We have a stained couch cushion, several dozen old magazines and a glass whatchamacallit with rounded edges that my grandma gave for my mom's last birthday. And ... GO!  
"It's not like she's there a lot either," Claire pointed out, nailing at the heart of it and tucking her geometry text under her arm. True. Not like either of us wanted to be there much anyway.  
"Claire!" Zach yelled breathlessly, stumbling to a stop beside me and barely managing not to trip over my feet and crash into me headlong. "Hey Jess."  
"'Sup," I replied with a head bop and Boston accent.  
"What are you doing running off to an away game?" He asked, turning back to Claire and me now again forgotten. It would have been harder for him to ignore me if he had in fact run into me breast level. Or the promise of breast level. Any day now. Fingers crossed. "That tape with all your attempts at bodily harm is still missing."  
"Yeah, well if someone finds it, we'll just tell 'em you're some visual effects geek who did it with his computer," she explained off, again in her locker and digging through it for other text books. "Now, can I get back to my life please?" Her words ended off harshly as she slammed her locker shut and tried to shove her books into her bag at the same time, the move jagged and unprepared as the zipper was still closed and I grabbed at her strap to rectify the situation.  
"So that's it?" Zach demanded as Claire lifted her arms to give me room as I tucked in her books evenly so the weight was distributed and she wouldn't get a crimp on one side. "You're just gonna pump your pom-poms, pretend that you're no different than any other girl on the squad?"  
"Yes, actually," Claire answered as I finished and dropping her arms to her side and turning to go, hand outreached as usual for mine.  
"But, you are Claire," Zach interrupted before I could, turning her back and his eyes earnestly searching for hers and as usual forgetting that I stood there. "You are different. Don't you see that? Don't you see that none of this matters? School spirit doesn't matter. Being a pretty blonde cheerleader doesn't matter. It's not who you are anymore. No offense." He directed the last to me with a half glance.  
"None taken. I'm brunette," I assured him. You think he'd at least notice _that. _  
"Who am I?" Claire asked quietly, her words heavy and harsh and reflecting on a thousand different things she asked herself every day and me every night with no answer between the two of us that could ever satisfy either one of us. "So what, I can crawl through a wood chipper, and live to tell about it. That narrows my choices in life to freak or guinea pig. In most cases, both. What's wrong with wanting to be normal? You should try it." She spun around on the last, hand reaching for mine and entangling our fingers together so that when she walked I did and when she didn't look back neither did I.

Fork hitting plate, fork reach mouth, fork back to plate, reaching for glass, lifting, returning and starting again. We had been through the routine at least ten times since either of us had said anything though her rhythm was slightly off from mine or mine was really off from hers. It was a credit to my boredom that I noticed that. Or that I was trying to match it so that I could focus on something else besides this was the first time we had sat to eat dinner together in years and months since we stopped trying.  
"So ... how was school?" She asked, breaking the pattern and slowly chewing on the steam broccoli she had prepared for the dinner though when you put it in a sentence it sounded more like torture then an actual meal. For us and the food.  
"Fine. Educational." I lied. But she didn't know that. "How was work?"  
"Good. Productive," she answered, lifting glass to take a large gulp and the sides like fog from where the milk titled. She might have been lying. But I didn't know. I moved my broccoli around on my plate to mesh with the unidentified meat that took up half the plate and looked like it gave up without a fight. Probably knew what the meal was going to be like and gave up without a struggle. Lucky.  
"How's cheerleading going?" She asked, fork prongs loud on her half empty plate and no doubt searching for one last attempt at distraction before having to call surrender and stare at it like I was planning to.  
"Good. Lot of spirit," I lied again. And again she didn't tell. I sipped my own milk and ran my thumb along the grooves of my fork. Sandra would have asked if I were okay at this point. Mom couldn't tell the difference.  
"I'm so glad you joined. Good of you to be socializing and making new friends," she attempted with a tight smile and I choked on my milk, air harsh in my throat and set the glass down hard. I coughed hard and sucked in a shallow breath feeling my cheeks go red as she stared at me worriedly, no doubt thinking I actually choked and that it wasn't that the whole team hated me and I joined to be with Claire.  
"Yup. It's every teenage girls dream," I cleared my throat and sucked in another breath, my throat still constricted and my chest feeling hot. She smiled that same tight smile – again not recognizing sarcasm – and returned to her dinner. My breathing finally quieted and I felt the cooling sensation in my bones that went with it and quickly took a bite of broccoli mixed unmentionable to keep it down. Would probably be bad etiquette if I suddenly turned invisible at the dinner table. Not to mention probably leading to another awkward conversation.  
"Seeing anybody special at school?" She tried again, looking at me shyly in preparation for my obviously flustered and bashful retelling of all the eligible men after me and me hopeless against the tide of them all. Which despite the inaccuracy was actually a funny image.  
"Nope. No one special," I answered and cutting at the unmentionable half heartedly with my fork. Maybe it would look better in smaller pieces ... nope.  
"Not even girls?" She asked, scrambling for the conversation not to end and looking almost sad that it might.  
"I included that in the no one special," I pointed out, tossing my fork onto the plate where it landed loudly and making us both jump slightly. She went quiet and the ticking of the clock got louder behind her, the sound of it going back and forth in my head and counting down the seconds to when it would be appropriate and I could ask to leave.  
"I'm sorry I haven't been around much," she said quietly and I had to look at her to make sure she had really said it and I hadn't imagined it in some alternate reality where this conversation was going better. She was fiddling with her fork again and staring down at her plate so she wouldn't have to look me in the eye and see if I was touched by the confession or a bitchy teenager who simply didn't care.  
"Me too," I said just as quietly, leaving it unsaid whether I was sorry she wasn't around or if I was the one at fault. The reason why we weren't was quiet and yet screaming and I felt it in every second that ticked by like another weight pressed onto my back to crush me.  
"I miss him," it was quieter this time. Almost inaudible but I heard it. I would have even if she hadn't but I didn't need to say that. She knew that too.  
"I do too," I was even quieter now, lowering the standards so the next one to talk wouldn't be heard and maybe the moment would end. But it didn't. It lingered. And I was crushed in it.  
"I'm tired," I said suddenly standing, the sharpness of the chair legs shattering the ticking silence and startling mom so she didn't have a chance to wipe her eyes and had to do it when I saw it for myself and couldn't pretend that I didn't. "I'm going to go to bed."  
"Okay. Good. You need your rest," she finished wiping her eyes so her mascara was smudged and she looked almost ten years younger at another moment with smudged eyes and a moment we couldn't run from. I took it as an excuse to leave and walked around the length of the table and to the carpet and the stairs; the steps creaked under my feet as I half jogged up them and feel each one heavier than the one before it. I turned at my stop and shut my door loudly behind me and scrambled over to the mattress where my bag still lay abandoned and pulling apart for my cell phone. A mini "1" flashed in the message box with the text of it from Claire reading: "Good luck with your mom. Tell me how it goes. xx" and the little box below telling that it was sent two hours ago. I sat down on the edge of my bed and quickly typed back that I needed to talk and sat on my hands to keep them still as it sent and all I could do was wait. The numbers silently clicked on my digital alarm as I rocked back and forth on the mattress that had long ago remembered me and held onto the grooves of on what side I slept at night and at a time what side Claire did too before we both decided her house was better for sleepovers. 7:30. 7:45. 8:00. 8:10. The numbers faded and blurred together into red and then I broke under counting them and slid from my bed onto the floor where my blanket had fallen and started to sob.


	4. 104 Collison

I quietly shut my bedroom door behind me and creaked across the hallway floor, each board creaking louder than the last and as if in competition to see which one could reach the highest note. Probably the last one before the top of the stairs but who was I to crush the dreams of what had so little else to live for. I stopped outside the door to mom's room and lay my fingers gently against the wood and leaned in close. Quiet. No snores or crying, not even shallow breathing to indicate that she was still inside and had taken the day off to grief or be bad for once and give hope that I was actually genetically her daughter. I gently twisted the varnished handle and pushed it open as the creak won hands down and I cringed inwardly at the sound. Like that would make it go quiet. It was empty inside. Tidy. Not at all like my room and in stark difference to the rest of the house that always seemed to have at least one thing out of place. Bed made, carpet straight, curtains pulled back, closet door closed and photo on the bedside perfectly angled to the pillow on moms side so that every night when she went to sleep and every morning when she woke up it was the first thing I saw. I tip toed across the room – remembering halfway there that clearly she had left already and I was free to exercise my right as a loud American – until coming to the edge and picking up the stiff metal frame. It was their wedding day. Eighteen odd years ago and an 80's dress that even then was out of fashion. But they were smiling. And his hand was on hers and her eyes were bright and I could only remember the look from photos instead of being able to call it from flesh and blood memory. I ran a finger over the edge of it and smudging a finger print over the glass like a dozen others I'd made from the time I was eight and this was the picture I went to and the one mom kept at her bedside because it was her favorite and I let her keep so she'd have a smile to look at in the morning instead of a large bed and an empty side.

The door creaked loudly and scratched against the carpet all at once in the spirit of annoying wood products and I slammed it shut behind me so that it knew what I thought of _that.  
_"Jess? That you?" Sandra called from the kitchen and poked her head out from around the corner rather than wait for me to reply and the green of her shirt darkly hitting the light and looking like the cheap tin foil you buy at Christmas at the last minute when the stores were all closed. I glanced down at myself with my arm held out like a personal self scanner – checking that I hadn't in fact turned into someone far more interesting by accident – and looked back up at her with an exaggerated _looks like. _She titled her head to the side with an eye roll and scoff and ducked back behind the island with a hand towel now tossed back and forth between her hands. I kicked off my shoes at the door and padded across the floor as Mr. Muggles skittered across after me, nails tittering with barely contained excitement – because if you're looking to store excitement the nails are the best place – and jumping at my ankles as if he could bring me down with beady eyes and a puff of fur that had no business belonging all to one animal. God knows how tiny he was underneath. Or how many of him there really were. Dun dun dun!  
"Not now," I mumbled, pushing him away with my foot and his growl disappointed as he gathered dust on his ass and clearly displeased with the new job description. Much friendlier then my pompom idea but who was I to judge? If it were me I'd probably pick mop over pompom too. Less perky blondes that way. Depending on whose house you were cleaning.  
"Jess?" Sandra asked, sounding like it wasn't the first time she had asked and her brow furrowed with concern.  
"Yeah?" I asked, dropping my silent pompom / mop debate and dropping my arms to my sides to demonstrate that I was now paying attention. A pad of paper and pen would probably work better but short notice and all ...  
"I said I'm making waffles. You want any?" She gestured at the waffle maker clearly advertised and a box of mix half open beside the burner. Throw in a big breasted brunette with an apron and you got a late night infomercial. Or a porno. But that had a whole other ending.  
"Yeah, sure," I walked over to the island and stepped up onto the stool already pulled out for me and balancing my elbows on the counter top.  
"Are you high?" I turned to look at Lyle sitting across from me, his eyebrows raised and his collar carefully folding down onto his shoulders to give off the illusion of a well respecting fourteen year old boy but the freckles dotting his nose and cheeks telling a completely different story. Freckles. Evil I tells you!  
"Lyle," Sandra smacked his arm and tutted against her teeth as she looked at me through her bangs, doubting Lyle's diagnosis but trusting in her gut that something was wrong. Leave it be Mrs. B. Live in your world of waffle making and dog shows and leave the grittier parts of the world to those who deserve to suffer it.  
"Where is that daughter of mine?" She asked, resting back on her ankles and glancing at the staircase through the doorway and tutting her teeth again as if she had discovered a new sound and wanted to keep finding excuses to make it. The whole world had decided to be loud today to make up for me. How sweet. "Claire!" She stalked from the kitchen, Mr. Muggles skittering after her and the puff some would call a tail – I rather refer to it as a self destruct button – standing proud behind him and giving us all a view of something we really didn't need to see this early in the morning. Or at any time of the day. I exhaled deeply and turned back to the table, the light beeping on the waffle maker and the smell of freshly cooked waffles seeping between the lids. It made sense but something like baking crocodile or something would be a bit more interesting. Not that I knew what baking crocodile smelled like – or even if it was edible baked – but that was what imagination was for though probably not for that specifically. The hairs prickled on the back of my neck and I glanced over to see Lyle staring at me, eyes darting up and down over my face and nose scrunched and freckles splotched as if thinking and not one hundred percent sure if forced facial expressions went with it.  
"What?" I demanded, my voice coming out quieter and harsher then I intended but the question there all the same. He didn't react like most people would have –varying from fear to exasperated disgust – too used to seeing me in every and any mood to be bullied into backing down and licking his lips to wet them as the only sign that maybe I could still get under his skin the way he sometimes could still get under mine.  
"Are you ... okay?" He asked, eyes still scanning over my face for any reaction and I drew a blank in showing one but taken back that he would ask, some part of me inside screaming "abort, abort" and checking out before I could think of a way to respond without giving a hint that I really wasn't.  
"Peachy," I answered – never once finding the word in my vocabulary but now finding it's chance – sliding off the stool and walking into the hallway, a potted fern scratching my arm as I passed and raising goose bumps under my sleeve and creeping into my neck. Stupid plant. Mr. Bennet looked up from where he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, suit pressed and brief case already to go and Claire on the landing above him, hair messy and loose around her shoulders and her fingers tightened in the folds of her sweater, holding it tight against her as if she'd cave for a moment and didn't know what else would come down in the fall out.  
"What?" I asked, half stupid half rude as I was obviously interrupted but not wanting to leave now that I'd seen Claire and my other option was Lyle in the kitchen and a lack of baked crocodile.  
"Did you know about this?" Mr. Bennet asked, gesturing at Claire and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep back the response of "Your daughter? Yeah sorry I meant to keep her a secret but she's been so good and I thought she deserved a trip outdoors" that was almost literally dancing on my tongue. Better let it out or swallow it before the words got tangled and I ended up saying "Sorry daughter meant to be good but secret outdoors."  
"The bonfire," he answered for me, stepping down one from Claire and towards me and visually suggesting that she was briefly forgotten and now I was the center of attention. "Staying out all night playing poker?" I didn't have to look at Claire to feel her watching me, fingers still tangled in her sweater and the blur of dirt coating her legs that I could see out of the corner of my eyes and I tried to ignore in the face of more pressing matters.  
"Yeah it was my idea," I said innocently, digging my hands into my pockets and shrugging my shoulders as if it were stupid of him to think anyone else. Out all night staying, poker planning, Mr. Muggles hating, self loathing mess of brown hair and too small boobs. Yep, I'm your guy. Or I would be if my boobs shrank anymore and I got rid of a few other crucial body parts...  
"Your idea?" He asked, an edge coming into his voice and taking it down another physical step so that he was almost on ground level. Whoops we were getting serious now.  
"Sorry, it was stupid," I shrugged again, taking my hands out of my pockets to tangle my fingers and make it look like the confession of a guilty conscience. Not that all of it could be confessed in one session. And with anyone less than an ordained priest. And even then God was not impressed. "Claire wanted to call but I said it was stupid to wake you. She crashed at my place and tried to get back before you woke up. Sorry." I resisted the urge to stare down at my feet but that was probably pushing it a little too far. Plus it meant staring at the remains of my glittered shoelaces and that was just depressing. He sighed, dropping his head to stare at his own shoes – luckily glitter free – and I snuck a glance at Claire who tried to smile at me but it didn't fit right with her eyes and I felt something heavy in my chest that was difficult to breathe around.  
"I'm very disappointed in you," Mr. Bennet raised his head again and I returned my eyes to his, the light and the heavy set of his glasses making it hard to see what he was thinking exactly but the tone of his voice saying enough. Though in retrospect this should have been considered a moral high for me instead of a degrading low.  
"I'm sorry," I did bow my head this time, staring at the floorboards in place of my shoes and counting the cracks between each one and the nails that held it all together. They creaked as he walked over and I looked up at the last minute to see him standing in front of me, towering in both height and presence with the light green on the inside of his lenses and making his eyes look younger and older at the same time.  
"You should have called," he said it quietly as if Claire was now no longer a part of the conversation and it was just me and him and what I wouldn't think about and he wouldn't say out loud.  
"I know," I said it just as quietly, just with as much meaning and staring back at him so he caught it too and didn't shy away because he thought I'd forgotten it when deep down we both knew I hadn't. His eyes aged in front of me and went sad and I felt guilt turn under my skin but fade into it just as quickly like it was a mistake my body reacted to and remedied before I could acknowledge that I felt it. He sighed, backing down and literally stepping back and letting his shadow awkwardly paint over the front hall and carpet.  
"This is not over," He started saying it to me then finished saying it to Claire, still waiting on the landing and allowing an innocent smile that went dark before it reached the red tint of her eyes. He walked back up the stairs to meet her and pressed his lips to her temple with a murmured 'I love you' and her quieter affirmation in reply. "There will be a throw down when I get back." His shoes echoed loudly on the wood before fading to the carpet and finally stopping as he opened and closed the door behind him, the sound of it clicking quietly behind him and out of place against the loudness of so far today. Throw down, huh ... square dancing as a form of parenting. Couldn't see how that could go wrong. Claire slowly sat at the top of the landing, feet set onto the top step and I crossed the front hallway over to her, footsteps loud again and up the stairs to meet her. She glanced up at me, hair swept back from her face and the red harsh between her eyelashes up close. I carefully sat down next to her and she slid to the side to make room and my knees touching hers on the awkward angle that I sat. She stared right ahead to where another potted plant sat by the door and I ran my fingers over the ends of her curls and letting them shape and reshape over my nails and around my knuckles. She closed her eyes and her shoulders fell as if the weight she carried went with them before her whole body shuddered in an attempt to hold back and a single tear rolled down her cheek and into her sweater, cutting the path for the dozens more that came after and followed.

"Look you can't say anything," Claire insisted, pulling back from her locker and tapping her manicured nails against the metal as if punctuating each word with a tap. Look – one tap -, you – one tap -, can't – one and a half taps -, whoops guess not. "I'm fine. He was drunk and an accident."  
"What part was the accident – the rape or the murder?" Zach demanded, fingers angrily digging into his bag strap and the scruff of his jaw tightening in barely disguised anger. Though if I was anger I wouldn't hide in scruff. Might have better luck under the fingernails. Or the ears. Give me a chance to whisper evil doings into the person's head and watch the chaos unfold. I would be an evil anger.  
"It didn't happen," Claire weakly defended, turning back to her locker and fingering over the picture of her and me from the grade seven / eight split class and our glee at the fact barely contained. Only time we had a class together. And probably the one time I was half way bothered to behave myself.  
"Yeah, because he killed you before he had the chance," Zach pointed out, poking holes in her logic and not speaking nearly quietly enough for us to be having this conversation in a crowded hallway. Not that anyone would bother to listen. Even if they did none of them would bother carrying it into the rest of their daily lives. Weekend hookups, beer pong and football games just really don't leave much room for rape and murder. Or personal hygiene but that was a less well spread problem.  
"I'm alive!" Claire declared – in my head outraged that he hadn't noticed.  
"Yeah, now," he countered. "But you weren't on the autopsy table."  
"Shhh," I hissed, making myself heard for the first time in minutes and startling him that I was still standing there and hadn't slunk off somewhere to do the depraved things I usually do. I mostly left that for after hours though. Set a better mood then broad daylight.  
"Look, you said you had a hole in your head," Zach continued, not as swayed from my interruption as most people would – people were getting too used to me – and readjusting his strap over his shoulder from where it had fallen from too many angered shrugs. "Okay, maybe when they pulled out whatever was in there, it like, rebooted or whatever."  
"I'm not a hard drive," she proclaimed with enough exasperation to make me grin and the tiny smile to her own lips hinting that it was her reasoning behind it.  
"No, you're "Little Miss Miracle Grow." Zach teased, including himself and the pinch of jealousy that he tried.  
"Don't ever call me that again," she said, eyebrows darkened over her eyes and her voice rasped in how low she made it in a bid to sound serious.  
"You gotta tell somebody about Brody," Zach continued, licking his dried lips and bringing us back from the light hearted moment and to the serious business at hand.  
"No, I don't," Claire forced out from between her teeth, angry that he hadn't dropped it yet. "And even if wanted to, which I don't, I don't have a mark on me."  
"You know what happened," Zach tried, now sounding earnest and the attempt lost on Claire who turned back to her locker to dig through it with an exasperated sigh. Which in my experience doesn't help with the location of lost things. "And he knows what happened."  
"All he knows is that he was drunk, and I am not dead," Claire finished, slamming her locker shut on the last word and physically bringing an end to the conversation that words so far hadn't. Drunk and not dead? The end to any perfect date.  
"Hey!" A voice called cheerily from around the corner and I pressed my back up against the lockers to push off and to see Jackie strutting over to where we stood and her eyes taking in Claire up and down to make sure that she was still made up of all the perfected pieces. And for this I made an effort of movement. "What happened to you last night?" Brody faltered beside her upon seeing Claire and something gathered in my stomach and held, pressing the sides of it together and making my fingers shake in the effort to keep it close and contained least I let go of the energy and end up killing everyone else but him.  
"I was hoping you'd tell me," Claire half giggled, exaggerating the act and finding my fingers pressed into the metal and squeezing as if in her gut she knew what I was thinking and that she alone could help me maintain that control. "I had way too much to drink."  
"I ... I gotta go to the bathroom," Brody quickly excused and quickly turned and bolted for the opposite direction, head bowed and footsteps uneasy while brushing past a girl – Lori something – in an orange shirt who stood and watched him go.  
"Must have the bladder the size of a pea," Jackie surmised, snorting at the thought of yet another man not living up to her bladder sized regulations. "'Cause he just went."  
"Fascinating," I said dryly, crossing my ankles together and leaning back against the lockers with a painful hit hard on my spine. Ouch, not my day.  
"You should be careful Claire," Jackie continued, glaring at me for my interruption and facing Claire with a smirk that like always looked more at home on her features than any other facial expression did – and knowing the superficial concerns and lack of imagination she had there weren't many. "Drink too much and you might give a guy the wrong idea. Right, Jess?" The lockers suddenly seemed to disappear behind me as she turned to grace me with her smirk and I felt that pit you get in your stomach when you're falling and can't seem to stop.  
"Jess?" Claire asked, her eyes to me and warm with concern, fingers tightening on mine and my arm growing numb as if all my weight was resting on the entwining of our fingers.  
"I have to get class. I'm late," I forced my fingers from hers and brushed past Zach as I went, footsteps sinking through the cement like quicksand and black splotches on my vision like I still hadn't stopped falling and was waiting to pass out.

I tip toed through the front door, shutting it quietly behind me and for once the laws of sound obeying and allowing me to slip in unheard. I clicked the lock with a sharp hit and kicked off my shoes so that they scrambled over each other and came to rest right next to the shoe tray and close enough for me not to bother and move them. I switched on the hall light, the kitchen and living room dark and the fading light outside not helping as I stepped through and around the table and the plates still set from last night that neither of us had bothered to clean up. A fly crawled over my broccoli whatchamacallit and I brushed it away so it returned to the other side unhindered. I picked up the plate instead and balanced it against my chest along with my glass and walked into the kitchen, dishes stacked up by the sink and unwashed from the times mom came home and couldn't do it and I was at Claire's and wouldn't. I scrapped off my plate and dunk out the milk before returning to the table and gathering moms and the untouched platter in the middle that last night in the fridge would have lasted but now was better left to the flies. I pressed the plug into the bottom of the sink and turned on the water, turning it so it was hot and spraying the sides damply. The detergent was under the sink – what was left of it – and I squeezed what remained into the rushing water so blue bubbles sputtered out and popped uselessly in the air around my head. Some people get fairy magic, others get halo's I get instant popping Dawn detergent. I turned off the water and rested my wrists against the counter and letting the edge dig in and mark another indent from where my hands met my arms. More bubbles popped in the sink and I could see them out of the corner of my eye, the occasion one struggling before giving in as well and going the others. Fucking bubbles. The door opened sharply and I jerked upright as mom stepped through after it, hair frizzled and undone around her face and the collar of her uniform jagged and damp with sweat that too many washes with dollar store soap had done more damage than good. A half crushed bag of McDonalds was in her hand and she started when she saw me standing there, either expecting someone else or just not expecting me at all.  
"Oh ... hi, honey," she kicked the door closed with her foot and it closed less gracefully then when I did it taking another kick before it closed completely. "How was school?"  
"Awesome," I said, rolling my wrist again against the tile but this time in the thought to get rid of the itch that an indent but not a cut brought on. "Work?"  
"Great," she said, forcing a smile and dropping the bag and her purse onto the chair and rubbing the back of her neck, the wedding band she never took off the only thing out of place of a woman utterly beaten by the world and one I expected to be thirty to forty years from now. "It was ..." she stopped, leaning forward on the table by her hands in an effort to keep balancing and kick off her shoes but stopping like an unexpected moment of frozen time and I waited, for a moment thinking that that was what it really was. "... terrible." She finished and restood, pushing the bag farther onto the table and giving in to sit down and unlace her shoes by herself. "The renovation is still going on and they insist that we keep working through it though I don't know how anyone can what with all the noise and chaos. And Mr. Nichols well ... he still can't seem to take not interested as a legitimate answer so he was hovering all day today trying to get a good glimpse of my ass and only finally swayed when I threatened to take a hammer to his head. One good thing about the renovation? Accidents happen." She laughed tiredly and finally pulled off her shoe and massaged the sides of her foot with a sigh that fell through her shoulders and down until her whole body seemed lighter for it. I watched her – the muscles of her arms, the wrinkles at her eyes, the curling strands of hair that feel over her forehead that she never cut no matter how many times she complained of them – and felt sad. The kind of sadness where it chips you away piece by piece and you're standing looking at it after and wondering how on earth it once fit together to make a person. This was the most I had ever heard her talk to me in years. Something wet dropped onto my hand and I bowed my head, hating myself for the tear and wiping away the path it made as if erasing it after it was gone made it so that it was never there in the first place.  
"Sweetie?" I raised my head; hand still turned to my cheek and caught in the act. Her eyes went sad and she titled her head to her shoulder as she watched me for a moment as if seeing me for the first time in years and finally noticing that they had passed. She held open her arms and I walked around the counter and to her, falling to my knees at her side and burying my face in her lap. She smelled like ink and sawdust and I turned my head to rest my nose on her knee and she entwined her fingers through my hair and trying and failing to bring them into civilized curls. How many times had I wished like hair like hers before she stopped spending so much time on it and it fell flat where it hung on her shoulders? How many times had she told me I was beautiful for looking like me and nobody else? How many times had I been stupid and believed her?  
"Your hair is growing out," she said like it was the simplest thing in the world and that all under any possible meaning I could over think and presume it to mean it really was.  
"Well get used to it because I'm going to shave it and dye it purple," I answered stoically and her fingers stilled before she cupped my face and raised it to meet hers, eyes wide with horror and not quite understanding that it was a joke. "Kidding. Ha ha." Her eyes scanned me for a moment, checking for signs of bullshit – for once in my life absent – and she cracked a grin that was more relief then humor but had enough of it in there to make me smile too. I sniffed through it and she ran her hands across my cheeks before bringing me close and pressing her lips to my forehead and resting there, hands now covering my ears so that everything was muffled and all I could see was the dark colour of the shirt and the sound of her breathing out of sync with my own.  
"I'm sorry I haven't been around much," she said, repeating what she said from last night but this time so I heard them and I listened. I hadn't been the only one to lose him. She did too. She just didn't get the luxury of being as selfish about it as I did.  
"I'm sorry too," I murmured, running my fingers over her hands still held over my cheeks and ears. Sorry for screaming and locking myself in my room every time he was mentioned. Sorry for the calls from the principal and the occasional from the police that always went away on its own but still made my heart clench whenever the phone rang. Sorry for hating you for living where he died. Sorry for everything I had ever done and ultimately for everything I would ever do again. She sniffed painfully and again kissed my hair, holding her lips there and holding me to her like we had always been this way but only now the two of us took the chance to notice.


	5. 105 Hiros

The elevator doors dinged and opened on the same count – apparently one wasn't enough as a heads up – and I quickly stepped over and past the divider between the doors and floor and to the small crowd waiting on the other side. One or two shifted so I could pass but the rest stood firmly in place and glared at me as if I were somehow a problem and should therefore be punished by disapproving looks. Oh the horrors! I turned to the side to side step them anyway and held the Tupperware in my hands closer to my chest and the inside walls smeared with icing where – unfortunately – several of the cupcakes obviously hadn't made it. A nurse turned as she walked past me and a clipboard tightly held to her chest and what looked suspiciously looked like blood on the front of her pressed red uniform. I swallowed hard at the identification and started counting the numbers above the doors instead and repeating the number Sandra had told me over the phone in my head instead. 214. 214. She offered to come down and meet me but in a rare moment of selflessness I had insisted that I had come to her and even she was surprised – though she hid it well. I recognized it at this point though. The casual eyebrow raise and intake of breath whenever I offered something to another human being and the earth shattering note that I wasn't been sarcastic and I was an actual flesh and blood human being who – on occasion – didn't mind stepping a toe out of character in the name of decency. Funny that. I turned at the doorway with the number "214" printed over the door and wedged the container under my arm so my other hand was free and briefly making me look like I was trying to take one armed flight. I gripped the handle and twisted it with a jerk and stepped into the dimly lit room and seeing Sandra first on the other side of the bed and looking up as I came in. Her shoulders sagged visibly with relief as she saw me and I glanced over to the bed to take note of Claire before turning back to the door and closing it behind me with a maneuver of the one hand and feet.  
"Oh sweetheart," Sandra was already to her feet and stepping around to me where she pressed me to her chest and uncaring that I still held the container and that it made the hug more awkward then heartfelt. Nonetheless I wrapped my free arm around her and gripped my fingers into her sweater to hold her and inhale the scent of dog product and perfume that I remembered she once told me was Jasmine and allowed both me and Claire to have a dose on our wrists and we walked as if it made us proper ladies. Lyle had asked for some too at the time though so it might have been a gender neutral thing.  
"I'm so glad you came," she said, pulling away and touching her hands to my cheeks and smiling at me. She looked tired but that somehow made the smile warmer – the fact that she put the extra effort in to do so.  
"Course I did," I glanced over at Claire in the bed and she smiled faintly at me, head turned sideways to the pillow and her hair pillowed around her shoulders and the spotted details of her hospital gown. I knew that smile and I returned it so she knew I understood and turned her face back on the pillow, fingers tangled into the linings to the standard issue blanket.  
" ... And I wasn't sure if you were going to come and then I thought of course you were going to come," Sandra –apparently – continued, hands waving nervously and her once hair sprayed curls beginning to frizz and blur under the dimmed light. "And you brought cupcakes." She noticed the Tupperware in my hands and the remains of their insides still splattered on the walls. They died bravely.  
"Uh ... yes I did," I said, peeling the lid off and the half smushed cupcakes lining the bottom with one remaining to the side and looking somewhat smug about it too ... "My mom had them leftover from an office party and said I could take them." Kind of defeats the sentiment that they were second hand but hey I made an effort.  
"Ew, second hand," Lyle commented, nevertheless walking over and taking one from the container and licking the icing from the wrapper and smearing his lips with it.  
"Oh, Lyle," Sandra complained and grabbed a napkin from the bedside table and started to wipe at his lips to clean them as he squirmed and screwed up his face in her efforts, cupcake outstretched in his hand and saving it from the ministrations. I grinned and looked over at Claire who watched with vacant eyes, fingers still tangled in the blanket and wrinkling its hem. My grin faded and the container suddenly felt heavy in my arms as if they had all at once gone numb.  
"Um Sandra, can Claire and I maybe talk alone for a minute?" I asked, setting the container on the dresser and nudging the tissue box over so that it precariously stood out on the edge. Only one could live while the other survives. Or ... something.

"Of course, sweetie," Sandra insisted, finally done with her efforts and grabbing her purse that hung over the back of her chair and settling it over her shoulder, Lyle resuming his task of the cupcake and somehow making himself messier then he had a moment ago. "We'll go down to the cafeteria and get something to drink. Do you girls want anything."  
"No," Claire quietly answered and I shook my head in agreement as Sandra walked over once more and cupped her hand under my chin to kiss my forehead and lingering there for a moment as if she were about to say something but unsure how to say it. I waited and finally looked up to her eyes and her warm smile and seeing no question but simply an affection I didn't deserve and a concern I no doubt encouraged in everyone though no one took the time to act on it. Least of all me.  
"I'm glad you're here," she said it quietly so that I almost didn't hear but feeling the weight of them more then the sound. And for the first time in a long time I felt guilty for them. Her saying them and me being warmed that I was in all but name her family while the remains of my own sat at home in photographs and a bed made for two that now only had one. I nodded and she dropped her hand to go to the door as Lyle dodged around her for another cupcake before thinking better of it and taking another one as well. She rolled her eyes at him as she held open the door and he walked out before her and she turned to smile back at us both before closing it with a click behind her and the room suddenly empty and quiet with her gone.**(!)** I turned back to the bed and Claire who still lay there under the sheets and looking up at me as if waiting for me to say what she didn't want to say herself and filling the silence that pressed down heavily on my skin. I turned the container so she could see it better, at a loss of what to do or say.  
"Want a cupcake?" I asked, not the first thing that should have come to mind but words – and words that made sense – all the same. It was always impressive when I managed to say things that made sense even if they didn't quite fit the tone of the situation. She smiled slightly and nodded and I handed her the remaining whole one and she carefully started to roll down the wrapping as I took one myself and sat down in the chair next to her, the back of it hard against my ... well, back. We didn't say anything for a minute, unwrapping and eating our own cupcakes as I watched her and she pretended that I wasn't. Her hand shook slightly as she turned the cupcake in her hand and eating it evenly around the edges so it wouldn't grow heavy on one side and topple icing heavy onto the sheets. She brushed off the crumbs and took another bite, this one dotting icing on her nose and sharpening it to a point. I smiled despite myself and leaned over to catch it off with my thumb and retreating back into my chair and sucking it off so that it didn't go to waste. She blushed as I did and stopped eating the cupcake and simply turning it over in her hands and not bothering to wipe up the crumbs it now shed.  
"These are good," she said finally, holding it up somewhat to indicate that it was what she meant and lowering it again back down into her lap. I chewed more slowly on my own and watched her, the faded light paling her hair and stretching the shadows of it across her neck and ending at a point over her breast. My chest started to hurt and I lowered my own cupcake, no longer hungry and feeling it harden like dried glue in my throat.  
"Yeah they are," I swallowed hard on the taste but it got caught and made me almost gag so I abandoned the effort, wiping the crumbs from my own lap so it dotted the tiles and looked a bit like scattered blood.  
"Who made them?" She wondered, still turning it between her hands and watching it as if memorized by the sight. I tried swallowing again and this time it worked – however painful – leaned forward in my chair so that I could drape my arms over my knees so my fingers grazed the sheet and only inches away from her own.  
"Some woman at my mom's office. They're a couple of days old but ... I thought they'd still be good," I traced the blanket pulled over her legs and continued to watch her and for the thousandth time in my life thinking of how beautiful she was and wondering how I fit into that. Easy answer was that I didn't and the longer one was that I never had and never would and most certainly didn't now. She nodded and sniffed slightly, the sound loud in the room and against the noises of people outside passing back and forth by the window.  
"Red velvet's my favorite," she tried to smile as she looked at me but looked away just as quickly though I could still see the tears in her eyes and the effort she had put into hiding them when her mom and Lyle were here and how much easier she could let them out when it was just her and me.  
"I know," I said quietly, fingers still inches from hers but closer than they were a minute ago. She nodded, the move almost violent as she tried to hold it together but a losing battle as she continued to turn the cupcake.  
"Is there anything you don't know about me?" The words stuttered past her lips and she gasped as she finished them, trying to laugh but the sound cold and emptier then if she hadn't tried to begin with.  
"No." I know you better then you know yourself. Better than I would want to know myself. Better then I love myself. She nodded, biting her lip and a tear rolling down her cheek and into her collar so it stained its imprint.  
"I wasn't the only one," She said it and broke as she did, body shaking as she started to sob and pressing her hand to her forehead as if her head were falling to pieces and it was her half heartened attempt to prevent it. I didn't say anything – didn't confirm or deny – and crawled up on the mattress beside her and pulled her to me, her arms gathered beneath her and pressed to my chest as she sobbed, face buried to my neck and fingers scrambling for my hair, my shirt my anything as if she were drowning and I alone held her above water.

I ran my drenched hand back over my neck and let the water stain its way down my back and under my shirt so I could feel it sticking to me and wrinkling it unattractively to my spine. I cupped another hand under the water and let it follow the first as it ran like goosebumps under my skin and to the top of my jeans. Cold and a tad overdramatic but what was done was done and now I'd have to wait until it dried. I turned off the tap and dried my hands on the cheap paper towel they used in places they usually used in hospitals and tossing the crumbled paper into the trash can next to the sink. I flicked my hair out of my face and caught my reflection in the mirror, the unhappy looking girl staring back and no more or less appealing then I had imagined her to be though people often saw her with a smile instead of a sullen face that clearly wasn't in the mood.I tucked another strand behind my ear and turned my head from left to right in the pitted mirror and picking out details. Dark curling hair, darker eyes, small nose and mouth with noting note worthy about my checks or temples though my jawline was something to comment on if my mom's old words that it was a strong one was anything to go by. But then again moms were supposed to say that. They were supposed to make you feel good and pretty even though both of them were actually a lie even though neither of us ever really said it out loud. I thought it often enough though. So I guess that counted. The door distantly creaked and I turned to the one partially shut behind me so I could still hear Claire and fulfil my task of getting her a glass of water. A man passed by the opening and returned and I could see that it was Mr. Bennet back from his trip, glasses low on his nose and his suit wrinkled as if he had slept in it or in the alternative hadn't slept in a while. He leaned over Claire with a smile and laid his hand on hers affectionately and I calculated my options of either staying in here or going out into the room and letting them talk in private. I froze with my hand on the handle when I thought of another option somewhere in between and closed my eyes and dropped my shoulders in the hopes that it would help me relax. A cold touch ran itself down my spine and spread so I felt cool and airy and I opened them with my hand now no longer visible on the handle though I could still feel the cold metal of it. I bit back a smile at my success and turned to slide through the opening between the wall and the door and the edge of it caught on my breast and creaked as it did. Both Claire and Mr. Bennet looked up and I squinted my eyes shut, damning the fact that this of all times my body decided a choice growth spurt. It was quiet for a second and I dared to open my eyes to see that Claire had turned her attention back to her father though he didn't seem convinced and stared at where he shouldn't have been able to see me before letting his eyes wander back and forth over the wall as if knowing my next steps and unsure if he should call me out on them. Which was impossible and I mentally smacked myself for thinking it. No one knew but Claire and no one would believe me even if I told – But Claire.  
"Your mother told me you lost control of the car," he was saying, turned back to Claire and patting her hand as if even as he was saying them he didn't believe them and waiting for her to correct it. I eased out through the opening – sucking in this time – and to the wall beside it so I could lean back and press my hands to it, my skin still cool and half expecting to see my breath frosted.  
"That's what I told her happened," Claire said quietly, looking from her hands and then back to his face, fingers tangled together and drumming against the other. His smile faded though he already suspected it and he turned away to the doorway to close it, Sandra visible through the window and talking to a doctor. Claire quickly glanced over at the wall where I stood and I smiled faintly and waved at her – before remembering. He grabbed the chair I had moved back from the bed and pulled it closer to the side and sat down on it, hands clasped and on the sheets always one to look ready and professional even where his daughter was involved.  
"Is there something you want to tell me?" He laid his hand on hers as he said it and squeezed his grip over hers to hold it. In memory I did the same but only felt my fingers closing on air.  
"I ran the car into the wall on purpose," Claire answered after a moment, eyes darting between where she thought I stood and him as if unsure which to look to and not even being able to see me if I was the one she picked.  
"You could have killed yourself," he said with some difficulty, head tilting sharply and dark along one side where the poor excuse for lighting gave out.  
"I wasn't thinking about me," Claire breathed, saying it in a rush so she'd be able to say it and not go back.  
"Well, what were you thinking about?" He pressed and she looked away, staring up at the ceiling and counting the tiles. "Claire. You've got to start trusting me." Something heavy sank into my stomach and I pressed harder back against the wall, fingers digging to the plaster at the memory of those words and what came next to nullify that they were ever said.  
"I lied to you," I barely heard her say it but I heard the tears she was holding back instead and that was enough.  
"About what?" He asked, more urgent this time and knowing he was getting closer to an answer.  
"I lied to when I said that ...," she broke off and she glanced at the wall, looking for me and not seeing me there looking back. "I lied to when I said that nothing happened ... at the bonfire." My nails scratched on the plaster as my fist tightened but neither of them heard or pretended that they didn't.  
"What happened to you?" He leaned closer; hand still on hers and running his thumb back and forth trying to comfort her. I mimicked the same action behind my back but it felt hollow that I couldn't see them and that they were my own.  
"He tried to ... he tried to force me," and the pieces of her that she allowed others to see broke and I felt that same heaviness in my stomach in my chest and making me ache so I felt like my insides crumble and no one would notice if I simply stood upright. **(!)  
**"The quarterback?" He demanded, anger over panic sharpening his voice instead.  
"He threw me down," Claire continued, the words out in a rush now and said before she couldn't actually think upon saying them. "And I hit my head and when I woke up I was somewhere else. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I lied to you. I didn't know what else to do. I can't prove anything. He was going to get away with it again. I'm not the only one. Please, you can't say anything." She reached for him, pleading that he'd listen and he smiled in assurance though I could see that it didn't match his eyes and he was thinking something else even as he said them.  
"No one's gonna know," he promised, smoothing back her hair and her fingers falling from where they had grasped at his shoulder. "No one's going to know a thing." She closed her eyes for a moment, comforted by his touch and words and the smile dropped from his lips and his eyes dark with it. My heart rate picked up in fear and I struggled to calm it as the coolness faded with it before settling back under my skin and like I had bubbles in my bones.  
"You must be hungry," He patted her knee and stood up from his seat, suddenly looming in the room and his shadow awkwardly marked across the bed. "Can't fill up on ... cupcakes." He turned the now empty container to the side so he could see the crumbs and icing that remained and a commemoration of those who had fought and lost.  
"Yeah, Lyle ate most of them," Claire wiped at her eyes and sniffed, wiping whatever crumbs she had missed from her lap and over the side of the bed. "Jess brought them over."  
"Ah yes and ... where is Jess?" He asked it like a question but it didn't come off right like he already knew the answer but was instead asking out of courtesy. I stiffened as he did and half wondering if I could sneak back into the bathroom to make a grand entrance like I hadn't heard anything and had been so distracted by my "beauty" that I had become deaf to everything else. A lie but at least one in character.  
"I don't know," Claire shrugged, not missing a beat and pointedly not looking at where I was hiding. "She said she was going to get me some water and hasn't come back yet. Probably found a cute doctor or something." She laughed slightly at the thought and he indulged her by doing the same and I took the moment to be mildly offended that I could be swayed from my water fetching duties so easily. Though granted I briefly had by catching myself in the mirror though that was more tragic then shallow.  
"Seems in character," Mr. Bennet said, still smiling though it didn't meet his eyes and looked worse off than if he hadn't tried with one or the other. "How about I get something for you to eat and if she's here by the time I get back she can have some too?" Claire nodded, pulling her blankets up to her chin more comfortably and smiling at the thought. Mr. Bennet smoothed his and through her hair once more and turned to look at the wall once more and our eyes meeting though by logic he shouldn't have been able to see mine. I froze as he stared, him waiting for me to move and me waiting for him to do the same. But he shouldn't have been able to know that I was there. He couldn't know. No one knew. Only Claire. And Claire would never tell. Defeated he lowered his eyes from mine and smiled at Claire one more time before turning to the door and pulling it open and then shut behind me. My shoulders sagged in relief and Claire looked over to where she assumed I was but where I for the moment stayed invisible so that she couldn't see my face.

I stared at the floor tiles as I walked, counting them and after each number why I was doing so. I could do without either one or the other but if I did that then the whole thing just seemed pointless so I counted and continued to asked myself why. A nurse brushed by me rather forcibly and I made myself look up and catch her glare as she passed and fading in down the hall with the other nurses and patients with no distinction between the two except that only half of them got to leave at the end of the day.Morbid but accurate. I turned back to watch ahead of me this time – counting tiles abandoned – and froze in mid step, my heartbeat stopping in my chest and cracking under the pressure. He was standing at the end of the hall ahead of me, a silence around him where there should be sound and looking perfectly in place with his pressed blue shirt and dark skin that reflected poorly in the light. My footsteps stutter under me and I spun into an empty hall, the overnight bag mom had dropped off hitting my side and pining me against the wall where my vision was counting spots and my heartbeat came back in double time to make up. He couldn't be here. Not him not now. _No one else has to know_. _I'll take care of it. _I swallowed hard on the memory and felt it catch sharply in my throat and panic hot inside my thoughts.  
"Hey!"  
My head snapped to the side and a doctor in a pressed white jacket stood at the entry to the hall and his thick eyebrows crooked in concern.  
"Are you okay?" He leaned forward slightly, hand outstretched as if to touch my arm but stopping before he could as if waiting to see how I would react. I licked my lips and glanced between him and the entryway, thoughts slowing so I couldn't process them all at once and stuck with memories I had buried that seeing him brought up and ripped apart my insides to do.  
"That ... man. The Haitian in the blue shirt ...," I glanced at the entryway again so that he knew where to look and his gaze followed mine and out into the hall where another couple of patients passed.  
"What man?" He asked, curious but not yet concerned. What man ...?  
"That ...," I half turned at the wall to gesture and hopefully still be hidden at the same time but stopped as I saw where he now stood empty and people crossing over it as easily if he had never been there. I scanned the rest of the hall, fear drying out my tongue and seeing no trace of him there – or that he had even been at all.  
"Are you a patient here?" The doctor asked slowly and I looked back at him as he crouched lower to my height and his hands out in perceived gentleness – though how reaching for someone could convey this I don't know. "Have you been in some kind of an accident? Do you need me to take you to the Emergency room?" I swept my fingers back through my hair, shaking and brushed past him so my bag hit his hip and he backed off from whatever conceptions he had already made about me that I was insane or only needed a diagnosis to prove it. I tightened my fingers in the strap and never kept my eyes in one place, looking for him and throat catching any time I saw a detail that suggested it might have been him. What was he doing here? Of all places, now? Why? Mr. Bennet stepped out of one of the rooms to my left and I stopped, suddenly afraid of him and taking a step back as he took one closer.  
"Jess! There you are," He grinned as he walked over to stop in front of me, smiling fading as he saw my face and that concern he had reserved for family crossing his face as whatever look I had on my own inspired it. "Are you alright?" I stared up at him, fingers still entwined on my bag strap and debating the seconds it could take for me to throw it at him as hard as I could and run in the opposite direction. I could turn invisible once I did but for how long? And where would I go? Where could I hide that he couldn't find me or that I would be welcome? The answer to them were slim and I felt my suspicions fade back as he continued to look at me, eyes sad as he waited and the idea of me not being alright for some reason bringing him pain. **(!) **My shoulders sagged in defeat.  
"Nothing. Mom forgot to pack my pajamas," I cut off a sarcastic comment to follow and shrugged like the lie was no big deal. Considering the other lies I'd told it wasn't but this was different. This was the man who had practically raised me and made me his own and now I couldn't even tell the truth to him because I was afraid what he would do and whether or not he was capable of it. He nodded, not convinced but allowing me the opportunity to think that he was.  
"Come on," he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders where I involuntarily stiffened. "I think the gift shop has some clothes that might do." I tried to smile and nodded as I followed with him, the same words echoing over and over in my head as we walked. _You can trust me. I promise you can trust me. _He lied.


	6. 106 Better Halves

"DeeDee wants to breed Mr. Muggles with her poodle," Sandra was saying, the object of our discussion fluffier then usual and clutched in one hand while her other somehow managed to seamlessly move back and forth from the icing tin and tray of still naked cupcakes. "Ugh." I nodded along as she said it, soundlessly agreeing as I swiped my frosted knife over the cupcake and spinning the top so it gave itself the appearance of a troll doll. Great. Like _that _didn't make me lose my appetite.  
"A poodle for God's sake," she continued, convinced in herself and our silence that we clearly wished to hear the ending. Claire side stepped her and dug her finger into the icing, pulling it back and holding it out for me that I obliged and sucked off her finger. She grinned and walked around me and licking off the rest as I turned back to my masterpiece to see that the curl of it had collapsed on its side and looking thoroughly unimpressed where it had ended up in life. "They call it a Pom-a-poo or a Poo – ranian." I snickered despite myself and slid my finished cupcake onto the tray with the rest and standing out from the smooth folds and straight lines of the others. Oh well born to be wild ... I guess.  
"Mr. Muggles doesn't want to do anything ... with a breed that has "poo" in its name," Sandra insisted though with the name "Mr. Muggles" he might not have many options otherwise. Something sizzled audibly with the scent of something acrid and I looked over my shoulder to see Claire raising her bare hands from the trays and wincing at the fading crisps of skin on her palms.  
"... Whew! Girls I think we left those cupcakes in too long. Smells like something's burning," Sandra said, picking up on it as I did and Claire raised her eyes to mine and I dramatically gestured in exasperation that she just simply couldn't use the oven mitts laying right next to the stove.  
"They look okay," Claire countered innocently and this time taking the mitts to carry the tray over to the island and setting it down next to the lines and lines of others and waiting to be taken into battle. Or also known as over stimulated teenagers and their mothers.  
"It's the Devil come to collect," I teased, following after and balancing my elbows between the trays and being careful to avoid getting my sleeve into one. Mr. Muggles lifted his head from Sandra's chest and glared at me through tufts of unsettled hair and beady eyes. I straightened again, suddenly alert. Satan?  
"I thought Mr. Muggles didn't like poodles anyway," Claire pointed out, finding the root of the problem and grinning at my reaction to Mr. Muggles while picking up a spatula and a cupcake to smear red icing over the top.  
"Not after what happened at the dog park," Sandra explained, still somehow managing to ice and hold him at the same time. "I thought that big dog was going to chew your hand off. Which would've put an end to your cheerleading career." Oh the humanity!  
"It looked worse than it was," Claire shrugged off, turning the cupcake in her hands to get around the top and not caring one way or the other. "And my cheerleading career is scissor-kicking off the field as we speak. At least I'm playing my part in the bake sale." She held out the cupcake for me to approve of and I leaned forward so my nose bumped the top of it and getting icing on the tip. She laughed as she pulled it away to avoid further damage and Sandra rolled her eyes at the two of us, somehow our antics more embarrassing then the fur infested rat she held on her arm but who was I to judge. Claire reached out to swipe the cupcake from my nose and suck it off her finger as someone walked around my side and I sobered as I recognized it as Mr. Bennet. His face was solemn and I dropped my eyes to the bare cupcake in front of me and turning it between my fingers so the wrapping audibly crinkled.  
"Cupcake?" Claire asked, perky and with a smile to her lips. "Only a dollar for a very good cause?" Yes, bitchy teens with short skirts and no futures support us now!  
"Not right now, Claire bear," He sighed, opening the fridge and glass rattling around inside as he moved things around.  
"You've been on the phone for an hour. Who've you been talking to?" Sandra asked, glancing up at him with affectionate smile and something off about the way I heard her say it so I thought of the man at the hospital and making it feel like something cold trickling was down my throat and into my stomach.  
"Yeah, about that ...," he began, passing a water bottle from hand to hand as the fridge door closed behind him with the hint of gravity. He walked over to stand beside me and I looked back at all the cupcakes stretched out from the counter and mentally counting them. "You know how you've been wanting to meet your biological parents?" Claire stilled on licking the icing from her fingers, staring at him with hesitation in her eyes that he might say what she was hoping he'd say.  
"Yeah?" She asked, hand out on the counter so her fingers touched mine and sticky from the icing she missed and the icing she didn't.  
"I just got off the phone with them," he explained further, leaning against the counter and his eyes serious. "Turns out they want to meet you too, tomorrow."  
"Wait just a minute," Sandra cut in, Claire's face lifting and then falling in the space of those words and turning to soundlessly plead with her mother. "What about school? We just can't drop everything for these people. Who do they think they are?"  
"I didn't say yes," Mr. Bennet assured her. "Nobody's dropping anything. Unless Claire wants us to." He turned his attention back to Claire and leaned over the counter so that his eyes were level with hers and me taking the unsaid hint that I wasn't to be included in the conversation and stepping back to give them space. "This doesn't have to happen now. You don't have to do this. Now unless ... you absolutely ready." She met his eyes, hopes and questions she'd only told me alive and urgent behind her own and not enough to the moment to express them all in. She glanced over at me and now asking me what I thought. What I wanted and what I thought she wanted as she knew I knew her better and would know best what she should answer. I smiled at her and slowly nodded, Sandra's face falling as she picked up on the silent communication between us.  
"I'm ready."

I kicked the door shut behind me and letting it cut off the light from the street and leaving the dining room dark. I pulled off my shoes with my feet and ran my hands over the wall to fin the light switch. Wall, wall, panelling, wall, something hard – ha ha – light switch! It flicked on and bathed the room in faded light that I had gotten used to from light bulbs that were cheap and didn't last long enough to even encourage that. I tossed my shoes against the shoe tray and walked across the floor with the boars creaking under my feet and to the kitchen which was also dark. Another light switch and no change in light and I set the cupcake I had saved on the counter with the icing a blend of red and white to make a messy pink and demonstrating my only skill as an artist – the ability to make basic colours. The dishes were still on the drying rack and the plate I had used this morning still unclean beside with crumbs visible on the dark surface. I swiped at the rim of it and licked what remained of the peanut butter off my fingers as a means of a snack and wishing I had taken up Sandra's offer to stay and have dinner. Silly me thinking mom might be home for a change and wanting to make dinner together. I picked up the cupcake and walked through the hallway – turning light switches as I went – and up the stairs that groaned with each of my steps and to the landing that wasn't any more helpful in terms of brightness. I stepped over to where I had memorized her door was and opening it to the brighter light of her room helped by the curtains pulled back and the streetlight pouring in. It was pristine and empty as usual, bed made and carpet straightened so it didn't looked lived in and more like a place to stop for an unwanted visit then somewhere to actually stay and sleep in. I ran my fingers over the quilt as I walked around the bed and allowing myself to remember once when I was five and crawled in to join them and dad had laughingly pressed his hands over the moving lumps that made me up to flatten the unseemly lumps that had suddenly been made under the sheets. I lingered with my fingers on her pillow and seeking out an indent in it for any sign that she had slept there recently or for once forgot to make it so it didn't seem like both sides were empty. There was none. I continued looking for one anyway, lining over the edges and the zipper that held together the case and over to his side and how cold it felt. There were no lumps to flatten and no one to flatten them even if there were. I pulled back, my middle like it was being sawed in half and I turned to the dresser where the photo still stood pointing to the side where she could see it and setting the cupcake down in front so that it blocked the image of them both and that when I looked back it was what I saw instead.

"How am I supposed to ask if someone is a freak when they're probably just going to lie about it like I do?" Claire asked, arm linking through mine and the wind teasing strands of her hair over her shoulders and making me think about brushing them back.  
"Why don't you just ask them what happens when they cut themselves?" Zach suggested, the wheels of his back crunching on the gravel as he walked it and his hips almost brushing mine as he did. "Or you could just cut them and find out."  
"I volunteer," I said, taking my cue for something sarcastic and rewarded for it by an eye roll and a grin from Claire.  
"Uh-huh," she laughed, jostling her hip with mine and almost causing me to trip into Zach and encouraging a human domino effect. Much less fun in life size. "Probably just think I was all bitter because they gave me away."  
"You're a little bitchy sometimes," Zach conceded with a shrug, a car slowing as we walked in front of it and driving around so it didn't have to wait the extra few seconds for us to cross. "But I don't think you're all that bitter. About the adoption thing I mean." He added the last part as she reached across me to elbow him before I could and laughing as he said it.  
"I'm not," she insisted, arm back to her side and once again linked through mine. "I mean ... I'm curious about it. And it's a little weird and maybe a little sad, but I'm not mad. I mean I love my parents." We crossed up and onto her driveway and she flicked back her hair over her shoulder and leaving me out on the chance to do it herself.  
"What if your biological parents raised you, though?" Zach wondered, staring up at the house as if it were whom he was addressing the question. "It'd be an entirely different scenario."  
"What if they can do what I can do?" Claire asked, turning and awkwardly turning me with her as she turned to face Zach and I settled myself to stare at the house and waiting for its answer to Zach's question. "What if they're like me?"  
"I hope they're not," Zach answered, squinting from the afternoon light at her – and I guess me because I happened to be standing there. "No offense, but I like – I like that you're the freak." Claire raised her eyebrows at me with a smirk. "It makes you more ... special or whatever."  
"Are you flirting with me?" She wondered, a disbelieving laugh on her lips and a pinch of jealousy in my chest.  
"No," he insisted, sounding disturbed with the idea. "Believe me, no. Um, look, do you plan on coming out to your parents? I mean the ones who raised you?"  
"No," Claire laughed, already backing up to the door and her arm dropping from mine to instead like my fingers through hers. "My dad would unspool. He's a really simple guy. He would never be able to wrap his mind around something like that. It would break him."  
"He's gonna find out," Zach teased, sing song and cheery.

"So who do you think you got it from?" Claire asked, rocking back and forth on her bed and hands holding her folded feet so they wouldn't split apart and end up hitting me in the head or something else equally comical.  
"Got what from?" I asked, tracing the patterns on her quilt. My looks? My sarcasm? My sense of low self worth and esteem? My flawless ability to make any situation uncomfortable? Leave your answer after the beep. Beep!  
"Your ability," she laughed, stilling her movements and resting so that she leaned forward slightly and her knees touching mine. "The whole invisible, force field thing." She waved her hands slightly as if to illustrate her point which – no matter how inaccurate – was endearing nonetheless.  
"I don't know," I shrugged, not having thought about it much. Just something you wake up with one morning and think "Hey that's cool" and then go about your business. "Can't really ask my mom and my dad ..." I let the answer trail and followed one of the stitched flowers with my finger and tracing out the blended colours that disappeared into the curve over the side of her bed. Her hand touched my foot and I looked down to see her fingers enclosed over and holding it as if to anchor me and all my thoughts focused on that one point of contact.  
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, head bowed and hair falling over her shoulders. "I shouldn't have asked." I scoffed; shrugging off the sudden weight on my shoulders like it was easily undone.  
"So what do you think your parents are like? I mean the whole possible "sharing of abilities" thing? Do you think you got something else from them? Do you think you have male pattern baldness?" I asked the last part urgently to cover the tremble in my voice and she took the hint and laughed at the idea, hand still folded over my foot.  
"I don't know. I'm kind of scared to find out," she traced her fingers along the lines of my foot and outlining the strips of my socks, tingles in my ankle and soft up my leg.  
"Well if they're _you're _parents they have to be something special right? I mean ... I hardly doubt you managed it all yourself," I gestured to her vaguely, smirking so she knew I was kidding.  
"Don't sell yourself you're pretty special yourself," she laughed, brushing off the compliment. I tried to smile back but the feel falling hollow on the words I heard but didn't believe.  
"I don't think _special _is the word I'd use," I defended. Clinical maybe. Bitch, loner, delinquent, future presumed high school drop out with no future and ten bucks to the name. Your opinions are important to us. Please stay on the line.  
"Well it's one I'd use," Claire said quietly and I looked up at her, hair still over her face and the desire to lean in and brush it back unsettling under my skin and aching in my fingers.  
"Claire!" Sandra's voice called from downstairs and snapping me out of the thought. Son of a ... "Honey! Your guests are here." Claire glanced at the door before back to me, eyes wide and suddenly terrified.  
"You'll stay?" She asked, pleading in her voice and her grip tightening on my foot.  
"Like I have nowhere else to go," I teased edge in my own voice at the truth of it but not the time to bring it up. Her shoulders sagged with visible relief and she let go of me to stand up and straightening her shirt and tucking her hair behind her ears. I watched her as she did and let the sight of it calm me and the cold weightlessness settle into my spine and spread out so I felt it everywhere and like I could float if I could concentrated hard enough. Or cease to exist. But there was always that fine line.  
"Do you want to ...?" She turned back and stared at where I was sitting with alarm and my reflection absent from the mirror to indicate that it had worked and she hadn't suddenly gone blind. She cautiously glanced to and around the bed before looking to the space next to her as if expecting me to jump out at her without warning. For the moment not wanting to move I took the next best option and tossed the teddy bear from her pillows at her and she jumped and barely caught it, grinning in relief that she "found" me again and hadn't taken the chance to attack her something. Like I ever could but admittedly I was a little unpredictable at times.  
"Claire!" Sandra called again and Claire took one last glance in the mirror before looking around the room for me and giving me the hint that I should join her. The bed creaked underneath me and I walked over to where she stood to take her hand and smiling faintly as she jumped at the touch. Reassured that it was me she took another breath and walked out the door and down the stairs with me just behind and the two of us only linked by fingers.

"She has your mouth and my nose," the woman – Lisa – stated, glancing from the man – Hulk or something – and back with subdued enthusiasm. That's it? That's your opener? Facial features? I rolled my eyes and leaned back in the stool to physically convey what I thought of that but remembering that they couldn't see me and my efforts gone unseen by the rest of the world. See, this is why I don't do things.  
"Yeah, it looks like it does, doesn't it?" The man – I doubted it was Hulk but for the sake of entertainment I'd refer to him as such – agreed and nervously smiling as he looked between the woman and Claire again.  
"I wonder what else of yours I have," Claire attempted with her own nervous smile – it looked better on her – and an uncomfortable fidget sitting between Sandra and Mr. Bennet. Not taking the hint neither of them answered and an awkward silence followed that left me tempted to start throwing things or talking just to freak them out and break the tension.  
"Can I get anybody anything to drink?" Sandra asked, hands audibly falling to her knees and the quiet getting to her as well. "Lemonade – just made a pitcher from scratch. We have sodas, iced tea. We have cupcakes, don't we, Claire? Just made 'em last night. The two of us. Or three of us if you count Jess." We don't but thanks anyway. "Sort of a thing we do." She nudged Claire affectionately with a nervous laugh and Claire seemingly mortified enough for the both of us.  
"Mom," she warned quietly and Sandra reluctantly backed off.  
"I would love some lemonade," Lisa said, breaking the silence and clasping her hands on her laps.  
"Me too," the Hulk added. Me three, I thought raising a hand. Oh ... wait.  
"Claire?" Sandra asked, turning to her.  
"Yes, please," she answered breathlessly.  
"Three lemonades coming right up," she summarized and I silently mourned that I couldn't ask for the fourth. Mr. Bennet and Sandra both stood as she finished and Claire half standing with them before taking the hint and settling back down, watching them go as they walked past me and I shrank back against the counter so they wouldn't accidentally bump into me. As fun as the thought it wouldn't be the easiest to explain and I was willing to forgo my own drink to avoid it.  
"So, what can we tell you about ourselves?" Hulk asked, adjusting more comfortably in his seat and Claire looking back at them with suppressed hope at the question.

"Oh, uh we're not together anymore," Hank – unfortunately not the Hulk – interrupted, glancing at Lisa who was sipping at her lemonade and waiting for him to continue. "As high school sweethearts, we didn't even make it to graduation. Once Lisa got pregnant, it was over." I blew air out between my lips louder the necessary and caught a grin at the corner of Claire's lips as she heard it and tried to act like she hadn't.  
"He wanted to keep the baby," Lisa continued, solemn and hands again clasped with the recent absence of her glass. "You." No, really? "And I didn't. You probably think I'm a bad person for giving you up."  
"No, I don't think that," Claire insisted, reassuring smile to her lips and her kindness wasted on these two strangers with less personality together then I had found in most disposable napkins. I rest my head onto my folded arms over the back of the stool and looked them over, these two strangers that I refused to see as her parents and nothing striking out at me to connect the three of them together or explain why Claire was the way she was. Or why I was the way I was. Deny all I wanted but I was curious about who I was and in retrospect who she was and how we could do the things we do. As normal as it seemed now you don't just wake up with it one day and carry on like it was sprouting breasts or discovering that half of the people at school hated you for something not your fault. Well partially my fault. My personality for one thing didn't help but there were other things that were less controlled ...  
"So, is there anything that I should know?" Claire attempted, fingers fidgeting and trapped between her knees. "Like, medically. Anything weird or out of the ordinary?" Good set up, sweetie. Top notch. I gave her a thumbs up to further approve but the action again lost on the fact that she couldn't see it.  
"Well, there is something," Lisa admitted slowly, glancing nervously from Hank to Claire. I straightened in my seat and could see Claire's eyes widening from where I sat.  
"I have diabetes," Lisa finished, shrugging off the revelation. Sweet Mary mother of ... I fell back in my chair in exaggerated exasperation and gesturing at my frustration to the answer and that listening to them talk was less interesting then paint drying. Some paints. Some were more interesting than others but if the Hulk – sorry, Hank – and Lisa were paint they'd definitely be the boring kind. Boring kind? I'd been sitting too long.  
"Diabetes?" Claire confirmed, disappointed weighted in her shoulders.  
"All you got to be worried about from my side of the family is Cancer and heart disease," Hank spoke, clearly not wanting to be left out of the revelations and laughing uncomfortably as he said it. Good on you, Hulk.  
"Great," Claire answered, trying to smile but failing and instead turning to tuck her hair behind her ear and mouthing "help me" to me before returning to face them with her attempt somewhat renewed. Yes! My time to shine. I carefully stepped of the stool – my legs asleep and almost causing me to fall face first into the floor – and limped through the hall and into the entryway where I pulled the door open to let a brief breeze in and closing it, the lightness of my skin fading and watching myself gradually become corporeal again.  
"Claire?" I called, playing my part as the just arrived saviour and walking back through the hall to where they were sitting and waiting for me, Lisa and Hank confused while Claire was bordering on ecstatic. "Best friend coming through." I collapsed into the couch next to Claire and tugging on her arm so that she fell back with me and trying to regain her composure as she readjusted herself and blushing at my interruption.  
"Who are you people?" I asked, looking at Lisa and Hank and letting whatever resentment I felt towards them come out in normalized teenage rudeness and forgiven from it because we'd hopefully never see them again and we could pretend that this disappointment never occurred.  
"Jess these are my birth parents ... Hank and Lisa," Claire politely answered, indicating them as she addressed them in turn and her hand holding mine tightly and caught between her knees. They both raised their hand in mock hello with uneasy smiles as if unsure how to handle my sudden presence and wishing for the peace and awkward quiet of when I wasn't there. At a sudden lack of anything to say I glanced at Claire who silently pleaded with me to say something as the tension returned and now I was stuck in it with no way out.  
"She has your nose and mouth," I burst out, addressing Hulk and saying the first thing that came to mind. He smiled, bashful as if personally responsible and proud of it and that it was a compliment I had paid him. "Except she improved it." You could practically hear the "Oh snap!" and his smiled faded as Claire's widened, despite her attempts to hide it.

Claire lifted the jug of lemonade from the table to carry back from the kitchen and I chugged down my own glass – having finally gotten it – and following her close behind so I could hopefully refill it before she put it back in the fridge.  
"Where's your father?" Sandra asked, whipping a napkin up into her hands and starting to fold it. "I mean, not your biological father, but, you know your dad?" She took the jug from Claire and poured me another glass as I held it out to me and pecking me on the cheek when she finished. I grinned around the rim of my glass as I took another sip and held it between my hands as a barricade against asking to help clean up.  
"He's walking out the bio-parents," Claire scoffed, walking back to the table and gathering up the glasses that they had left behind and holding them tight to her chest.  
"Is that what you're calling them, the bio-parents?" Sandra asked, closing the fridge and walking over to help her with her arms helpfully outstretched. "Oh, that's so cold and impersonal. And fitting." She took the glasses from Claire and smiled at her as Claire returned the grin and glanced at me to silently ask me to help. I held up my glass as indication that I couldn't and she rolled her eyes through her smile as she walked back into the living room.

"Was it what you were hoping for?" Sandra asked, leaning on her elbows over the counter as Claire unwrapped a cupcake and scattering sprinkles over the surface.  
"Not really," Claire admitted, fiddling with the crusted paper. "I mean, I don't know what I was hoping for. I guess I just wanted them to tell me who I am. They don't know me any better than I do." She swiped her finger through the icing and offered it out to me and I pressed my fingers to her wrist to hold her steady and sucking it off, sprinkles dotting my lips and wiping at them as she pulled her finger away to lick up what I missed.  
"Baby, no one can tell you who you are," Sandra insisted, either not noticing or ignoring our little "moment" and straightening up from the counter. "That's just something you have to figure out for yourself." Claire grinned at the answer and took a bite of her cupcake and wiping her upper lip.  
"Can we throw these away?" She asked, indicating the plateful that still remained untouched by the burner.  
"Are they burnt?" Sandra asked, sampling herself to her own icing from one of the red ones on the opposite side.  
"No. I'm just afraid I'll eat 'em all if we don't," Claire confessed and I grinned into my folded arms before looking up at Sandra who laughingly took away the plate and walked over to the pantry where presumably there was a container to put them in – or where she and Mr. Muggles could snack on them in peace.  
"You know, I have to hand it to your dad," she called, voice echoing as she left the room. "This isn't the first time we've tried to find those bio-parents."  
"It's not?" Claire asked, only partially interested in what she was saying.  
"Uh-uh. When you were a baby ... we thought you might have had something wrong with your chromosomes. Some disease." Claire stilled, cupcake still half eaten and turned in her hand. "We needed to screen your parents to see if they were carriers. I was scared to death, and they were nowhere to be found." I straightened and turned to look through the doorway of the pantry where Sandra was still standing and running her fingers through Mr. Muggles' fur as she talked.  
"What kind of disease?" Claire asked, interest peaked. "How did you know something was wrong with me?"  
"Nothing was wrong with you," Sandra tried to explain, brush in her hand and Mr. Muggles staring at me with hopeless, beady eyes. You listen to her talk about you all through dinner _then _you could ask a favour. "You were fine. It's just, I don't know, one of those things."  
"Of what things?" Claire demanded, fingers tense and gripping the edge of the counter. "I mean, was I doing anything abnormal?"  
"You had a cough Claire," Sandra answered, distracted by Mr. Muggles giving her kisses – brushing attempts apparently forgiven. "Don't turn hypochondriac on me. Your brothers bad enough." She pressed her lips to Claries temple as she passed before giving me my own on the cheek and walking out of the room with Mr. Muggles still in her arms and the intelligence level of her conversation dropping to the level known to pampered dog.

I slowly creaked open the door to mom's room and was rewarded for my efforts by a louder creak then I had intended and a warm light coming from the lamp that suggested it was occupied or at the least mom forgot to turn it off when she left for work. I stepped around the door to see her sitting on the bed on dad's side and holding the picture frame out of front of her and not taking her eyes off the photo. She didn't seem to hear me walk in and I took the moment to watch her, years peeling back before my eyes to when she laughed and smiled and I could have full conversations with her that didn't take several days of "good morning's" and "goodnights" to fill up. She was fingering the silver frame of the photo and her weight sagging the mattress so it rustled with the quilt and damaged whatever pristine appearance she had drawn so much comfort out of making. I closed the door quietly behind me and I tip toed over to the bed and climbed onto it with my knees so I could crawl over to her and look over her shoulder. It wasn't the wedding picture in her hands but another one with a large group of people I couldn't properly see or recognize and she lowered it before I could look closer. I stilled as I sat behind her, fingers tracing in my jeans and over the hole over my knee that seemed to be slowly stretching itself so it was beginning to show a dangerous amount of thigh when I sat. I waited of her – to do or say something – and after a moment her shoulders started to tremble as she sobbed and I stood up on my knees to press myself against my back and cross my arms over her chest to hold her. Her shoulders continued to shake as she cried, reaching with one hand up to hold my arms and my head lowering to bury itself in my shoulder where I could smell paper and sweat and somewhere deep and lost inside her – my mother.


	7. 107 Nothing to Hide

"Did you get a good look at the picture?" Claire wanted to know, leaning over closer to me and her hair brushing over both mine and her knees. Distracted for a moment I forcibly shook my head and tapped my fingers along the flowers stitched on her quilt.  
"Nah, just a group of people I didn't recognize," I shrugged like it didn't bug me but deep down it really did. Who were they? Why didn't I know about them? Why did seeing it make mom cry? And why did she hide it when I tried to take a look? And why did Claire have flowers on her quilt when I had never once in my life heard her mention a specific fondness for them? But that's me always one to stay on point.  
"So you didn't recognized anyone?" She continued, obviously not hearing my thoughts and / or answering them for me. I shook my head and sighed, falling back dramatically onto her pillows and sinking about a foot into them. She giggled and I grinned at the sound of it and stared at her ceiling, remembering when it used to have glow in the dark stars on it until one night they decided to lose suction all at once and making Claire and me wake up screaming that the sky was falling. The sound of a doorbell rang from downstairs and I turned my head to look through the doorway and was blocked by the edge of the pillow puffed out around my head. Unhand me ye beast!  
"Probably Zach," Claire guessed and holding out my arms so I could take them and she could lift me back into sitting position – not without a few cracks in my spine and an attempt to pull her down with me first. I climbed off the bed to follow her and holding her hand as she jogged down the stairs, bouncing slightly on the last step and springing forward to the mat before pulling open the door and leaning on it.  
"You know, I get that you're sort of socially slow, but you know you're supposed to call someone before you come over," she teased and holding an arm back to welcome him as he did and taking a brief but uninterested glance at the stairs to note that I stood there.  
"What and Jess doesn't count?" He asked, nodding over to me and half an acknowledgment and half so that we all knew it was me that he was referring too. And not of course ... the many _other _Jess's we knew in the world who fit better to the comment. I had a factory of them stashed away just in case this very moment arose and I wasn't around to occupy it.  
"Of course not, I'm Jess," I answered for him and walking around the banister so I could stand on equal footing beside them. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, amused and starting digging through his backpack pulled over his front.  
"I found the tape," he said, remembering his original purpose and searching through the multiple pockets and zippers that didn't seem to have a place to go to but were there just for the fun of it.  
"What tape?" Claire asked sounding uninterested and taking my hand to lead me into the kitchen with our hands between us swinging.  
"The tape of you trying to kill yourself twenty times," Zach hissed after us and leaning urgently over Claire's shoulder to say it. "I found it! Look, I was looking for my PSP under my bed, right?" I nodded, no matter how sarcastically. "And there it was." He completed his search through his bag and pulled out a small tape in a homemade case that she quickly took from him and turned between her hands. "You're safe." Breathing a sigh of relief she leaned over and hit him hard in the arm.  
"I thought this was supposed to be good news," he protested, clutching his arm and pulling back in case I wanted to do the same.  
"Well, I can't believe you had it this entire time!" she declared and dramatically holding it up to the light so that it almost looked angelic. "Why didn't you look there before?"  
"I did," he insisted, still clutching his arm and on the cautious lookout for another hit. "I tore my room apart. I must have checked the bed, like, fifty times." Footsteps creased on the footsteps and we innocently backed up and separated as Sandra came to the bottom of the stairs and set Mr. Muggles delicately on the rug. Please, thing that fluffy you could drop it from a fifty foot building and it would still bounce. I grinned at the image and Sandra looking up as if hearing the thought and disapproving.  
"Good morning Mrs. Bennet," Zach greeted politely as she started to lead Mr. Muggles into the kitchen, already wearing a leash and a fashionable little sweater. Little bugger was more fashionable then I was. Though I probably would have forgone the leash. Standards and all. "Good morning, dog." Zach raised his eyebrows down at him and I felt my liking of him spike.  
"Morning, sweetheart," Sandra leaned in to peck me on the cheek and out of habit I met her halfway before she continued through into the kitchen with Mr. Muggles's leash wrapped around her fingers and something confused and sick in the pit of my stomach. "How are you, Zach?"  
"I'm all right. Claire keeps punching me though," Zach shrugged and so I hit him in the other arm so we'd be even and I'd take half the blame. "Jessica too." Sandra sent an obligatory look of disapproval over her shoulder at us and I held up my hands so she could see they were punching free and Claire stuffed the tape into her bag and pull the flap closed over top.  
"Your dad's plane is going to be late," she continued and Mr. Muggles back in her arms and nodding along as she spoke. "I won't be home until eight or so. I'm trusting you to hold down the fort." She looked at Claire as she said it and as affectionately as it was knowing – as well as I did though less affectionately – that I couldn't be trusted with the responsibility.  
"Because Lyle never listens to me," Claire answered dryly and raising her voice as Lyle walked in behind her and rolled his eyes over his Game boy.  
"Well, he will listen to you today because he knows what a big day it is for Mr. Muggles," Sandra explained as a way of an answer and Mr. Muggles licking her chin recognition. Claire looked over to me with her eyebrows raised and I "pretended" to gag as Sandra looked back and I turned it into a timely cough. "And he doesn't want to stress us out. Whew, does he?"  
"Sure," Lyle answered slowly and just as disturbed as the rest of us.  
"Will you three help me out to the car?" She lifted Mr. Muggles over the counter and to Claire who took him paws, fur, leash and all with neither of them looking too pleased about it. "Your dad left on the sprinkles last night. And I don't want him to get his paws soggy." Yes, God forbid. She handed the doggy designer bag to me and I quickly handed it over to Zach before the weight could fully settle and making him painfully exhale as it hit him in the chest.  
"Here we go," Sandra excitedly jogged for the door and we obediently followed her single file as she did.

I kicked my shoes off at the door as I simultaneously dropped off my jacket and became entangled in them both so I was glad there was no one around when I finally pulled myself free and stepped away least I get dragged back in.  
"Mom!" I called but stopped myself on the end of it before I could remind myself out of the stupid habit. I waited anyway and felt disappointed when I didn't hear a reply but even angrier with myself that I had expected one. The floorboards creaked under my feet as I went over to the staircase and peered into the office on the other side where she sometimes worked and where I once looked up unsavory porn. It used to be dads and since ... then we had made a habit not to go in there unless out of extreme necessity. I pressed my fingers to the handle and peered through the blinds covering the inside to see if I could see anything and an ache in my stomach that pulled me inwards to see something – anything – that might make it go away. I cautiously opened it and was rewarded with a low sharp whine as I stepped inside and could smell the dust that layered everything and made everything look one hundred years older than it actually was. Desk, chair, book shelf, books ... pretty standard of any office but I wasn't and it sobered me knowing that. I ran my fingers over a line of books on the shelf and briefly looking at the titles before sitting in the chair and rapidly spinning myself so the world felt hazy and for a moment I felt like myself and like my misery was hidden under sarcasm and defence mechanisms and instead of on the surface where anyone could see. I gripped the desk to stop myself and as I felt the world return to normal remembered how when I was little I used to try and spin him in it and make him dizzy but because he was big and I was small he'd only laugh and have to do it himself. He used to laugh a lot. Near the end he stopped but my earliest memories were of him laughing. About something. Anything. Angry with myself I wiped at my cheeks and riffled through the papers without being entirely sure what I was looking for but looking anyway. I opened a drawer and saw that it was filled of old pens, paper clips and other boring office supplies and contemplated making a necklace out of the clips just to wear it to practice and see what Jackie would say. I swept them together from the back and pulled out the drawer farther to see it there were more when it came off its tracks and fell with a loud bang onto a stack of papers stacked underneath it. Papers went flying and I cringed and waited to see if anyone would hear and come yell at me before remembering that there wasn't and that I could be as much a delinquent as I wanted and no one would notice. I knelt anyway and shoved the drawer aside and started to pick up the paper clips and pens before one of the spilt papers caught my eye and I paused to look at it. It was a photograph sticking out of a folder and I pulled it carefully into my lap so none others would fall out and opened it so it spread across my knees. It was a picture of me when I must have been eight or so – hair in pig tails, couple teeth missing and a grin that was too big for my face. My eyes were smiling too. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. It was stapled onto a file and I lifted it so I could read what it said but only getting basic medical information about my age and any birth defects. Turns out I was relatively normal – besides the bitterness and perpetual sarcasm thing. But that came later. I gathered it to toss it back into the pile when I saw the second page and turned it so I could read the rest:  
-Shows signs of genetic abnormalities  
-Bring in for testing and DNA sample  
-Possible hereditary for her father  
-Invisibility / force field manipulation

I froze, scanning the words and not comprehending what I read before another photo fell out from the file and I barely lifted it up to see it but knowing who it was before I even needed the better look: It was Mr. Bennet.

The car honked angrily at me as I ran past and clutching my bag over my shoulder and to my side so I wouldn't accidentally drop it and tempted to give the drive the finger just to show him what I felt about almost being run over. He didn't seem to care either way and drove around me as I ducked into the trees lining the sidewalk and my heart pounding so fast in my chest I felt dizzy and sick. Genetic abnormalities? Hereditary from her father? Invisibility / force field manipulation. It didn't make sense. Or it probably did in some parallel universe but in this one I had drawn the line at invincibility and occasionally the ability to sneak into class unnoticed. But I didn't even know about that until six months ago so how did dad know about it before I did when he had been dead eight years. What did it mean testing? And what was Mr. Bennet's picture doing in the mix. I didn't even know who he – or Claire was – until I was almost nine and yet he knew my dad before? How? Why? And what the fuck was his picture doing with my file about apparent genetic abnormalities? And how did the quiet, bald man fit in to everything or was he just some random guy who had nothing to do with anything but just happened to show up at the worst times?  
"Whoa!" I stumbled back as Zach suddenly braked in front of me and balancing his foot off the pavement to keep himself from falling over. I offered him a courteous smile before ducking to move around him but he caught my arm and stopped me.  
"Whoa are you okay?" He asked, the biking nearly falling on him as he tried to keep it up and hold me at the same time and one having to give so he allowed himself to stumble as it hit the pavement but loosening his grip as he did.  
"Yeah, I'm fine," I insisted and stepping over the twisted wheel and nearly cutting myself as it continued to spin. Damn excuses for transportation.  
"Hey," He grabbed my arm again and remembering something I didn't want to I shoved him back hard so he fell back over the fallen bike and landing painfully on his back. It came at a price but it made me stop and I watched as he nervously lay there before looking up at me and looking more concerned than hurt that I had shoved him. It sank into my skin in pieces and the ground came up underneath me as my knees hit the grass and I was crying and with no idea why. It felt good though. Hurt but felt good and I clutched my bag to my chest and cried as I wanted to throw the papers out of it and rip them into tiny pieces and rewind the last six months – eight years – of my life so that I never knew I had a "gift" and never had any reason to cry myself to sleep with no one there to come in and tell me that it would be okay. I saw Zach move out of the corner of my vision and felt something lightly press to my shoulder that I presumed was a hand but wouldn't be surprised if he was secretly acrobatic and that it was actually his ankle.  
"Jessie?" He asked it quietly as he knelt beside me and I turned to bury my face in his neck as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in closer to him. He smelled like cologne and pencil shavings and about a dozen half hearted jokes came to mind in connection between the two but I pushed them aside as my fingers wrinkled in his shirt and distantly I could hear birds singing and how awkward it sounded when it should have been stormy and dark. If what I learned from English class was anything to go from ... which it usually wasn't.  
"Hey, hey. You okay?" He pulled me away slightly and held me by my shoulders so he could look at me properly and I caught a glimpse of his eyes through his hair and was struck by how pretty they looked. That or I was clearly having a break down.  
"I'm great," I shrugged off and wiping my eyes, thanking my aversion to make up and how it probably would have made me look like a dripping raccoon at this point. No more attractive then I usually was but hey you got to keep it where you get it. Or something.  
"Are you sure?" He was squinting at me slightly as if trying to find the girl he –and everyone else – saw on a daily basis and finding no place for her under the tears and shaking. "Because ... you just kind of had a breakdown." He tried to smile to ease and I found I appreciated it no matter how poor the effort.  
"I don't break down," I insisted but not moving from where I sat and my fingers still on his arm. "At least not in public anyway." I tried to smile to match his own but I heard what I had just said instead and saw his eyes grow sad at how depressingly honest it was and showing me exactly why I didn't break down in public. That and it just became a nuisance if it was a daily occurrence. "I'm fine." I brushed off my jeans and awkwardly stood up so he did as well and watching me as I prolonged my efforts just so I wouldn't have to meet his eye.  
"Okay, if you say so," he shrugged it off and leaned over to grab the handlebars of his bike and straightening it so the wheels again stood and I felt bad for pushing him over it. "So, where you headed?" He looked up as he said it and the front of his shirt damp and twisted from where I had been holding it.  
"Claire's," I gestured behind him to demonstrate and hoping he'd leave it at that and bid me farewell. He didn't though and if he had been anyone else – with maybe the exception of Claire who was always an exception – he might have already been running off to brag that he witnessed the great stoic Jessica Newport break down and that I wasn't as bitter as all that. Well I was but somewhere deep down there I was still human.  
"I was heading that way myself do you want a ride?" He patted his handlebars as he said it and I could almost taste the lie in his voice that it wasn't where he was going at all but was offering me anyway.  
"I'm good. Thanks," I started to walk away from him and waiting for the moment when he would stop watching me and thus the prickling in my neck would go away. It didn't and so I stopped, taking a deep breath before walking back to where he stood and keeping my head low as I did. I stepped up over the wheel and turned so I could sit on the handle bars so I could lean against his chest and the metal bar of it digging into my ass. He steadied me against him for a moment before pushing off and starting to ride down the street.

"So are we going to talk about it?" He asked, another car passing by us and someone from our school – who knows who they all look the same – whistling and cat calling as they went. Yes, riding a bicycle together how sordid.  
"About what?" I asked, running my fingers over the rubber of the bar and bits of it coming off into my hand. Playing dumb. Most people assumed I was anyway so it was just easier to play off it sometimes then actually making the effort of a conversation. He laughed and I could feel the vibration through my back.  
"What happened? Back there," I think he tried to gesture back because the wheel wobbled and he quickly steadied us least we fall onto oncoming traffic. As amusing as that would be.  
"I pushed you and was so overcome with regret that it broke me," I answered dryly and I felt him laugh again as he turned down Claire's street and I could see her house at the end of it. Funny how it – and the people inside – were more like home then mine was. I felt a pang when I found that included Mr. Bennet and shoved it down to the bottom of my thoughts were they still focused on the file and that photograph.  
"Is that the story you're going with?" He wondered and a rock bumping under the wheels so I bounced and felt the pressure of the bar even harder on my ass. There were jokes about that. Many jokes.  
"I don't have to "go with" anything. I've made my peace with it," I tried to shrug but almost lost my grip and decided that the sarcasm in my tone was enough.  
"You know ... you don't have to be like that all the time," he sighed and sounding exhausted from saying it. I tried to turn to face him but was once again faced with the dilemma of my position and having to look forward.  
"Like what?" I wondered, more curious then wanting to fill the answer with something between the lines of "I'm perfect" and "I am what I am."  
"Like ... a bitch," He stuttered over the word and I wasn't sure if he just didn't like saying it or that it was me he was saying it too. "I mean. You act all tough and mean all the time but you're actually a pretty awesome person and you should let people see that more. They might make fun of you less." He leaned his forward as he said it and his chin brushed my shoulder so I stiffened and unsure how to take the affectionate contact. Unless it was Claire or Sandra of course. But that was more out of habit then knowing what to do.  
"Listen ...," I started, all ready with an impassioned speech about that it was who I am and that high school wasn't exactly the time or place to "be yourself" (whoever that might be) when I was interrupted mid thought by yelling up ahead and the sound of Claire's voice.  
"Lyle!" I could just see over and up the lawn to their house Claire running after Lyle on the green and her arms out and gesturing at us as we approached. "Don't let him get away!" Zach came to a stop in front of Lyle, blocking his path and I threw myself off the front of it and after him but I only caught his ankles and dragged myself up the hill to where Claire had already fallen running after him.  
"Lyle!" Now Zach had taken up the chase and after him and I skidded to a stop beside Claire to pull her up and back on her feet as Lyle bolted into the SUV parked in the driveway and closing and locking the door behind him. All three of us came to a stop on the driver side almost at the same time and people up and down the street now watching us and not sure how to handle the appearance of four teenagers playing "tag."  
"Argh!" Claire pounded her fist against the window and Lyle shrank back and onto the passenger side.  
"Why do you want us to kill him again?" Zach asked, just now thinking of asking. Why bother though? Just go with it.  
"Because he found the tape and then he stapled me," she answered, breathing hard from anger and the run and holding her hand out to demonstrate. Even knowing that I wouldn't find anything I took her hand anyway and ran my thumb over the back.  
"Help! Somebody help me! My sister's a freak!" Lyle yelled it over his shoulder and attracting the attention of a neighbour mowing his lawn before turning back to grimace at us and the look losing its effect from the fact that he made the same face when he didn't like dinner. Claire wasn't as optimistic of it though and continued hitting the window and grunting in frustration.

The back of the SUV awkwardly moved up and down and whined as Zach jumped on it and holding onto the bars of the top to keep himself from falling off.  
"Come on, you can't stay in there forever!" He called before losing whatever leverage he had and bouncing off the back and to the other side. I watched as he went, arm resting against the window and something very subdued about waiting someone out and no pizza to fill that time. If it were me in the car that would get me out in a hurry. But then again I might just get bored. Or never take the tape in the first place. But the world was full of what ifs and I was biased when it came to Claire so there was that to contend with.  
"Just give me the damn tape," she burst out and tears of frustration in her voice as Lyle ignored her and continued to watch it from inside his seat. He paused for a moment and stuck his tongue between his lips.  
"I'm gonna put this thing on YouTube. Make like a million bucks," he threatened but the sound coming off hollow with how scared he really was and looking away before he could get a good look at either of us.  
"YouTube's free idiot," Zach pointed out and leaning against the passenger side window.  
"You're not helping," Claire said tiredly and rolling her eyes at him. She turned back to Lyle and growing serious as he cautiously looked to her. "Lyle, no one can see what's on that tape." I turned from her to look at and was struck by how light his air looked in the cloudy afternoon light.  
"Is that your natural hair colour?" I wondered and the three of them turning to look at me with varying degrees of confusion and amusement.  
"Are you high?" Claire asked, more curious then concerned and I gestured with my fingers to a small amount and she rolled her head back over her arm and trying to hide a smile.  
"Are you an alien or something?" Lyle demanded, finally getting somewhere with his questions. "Are you guy's aliens too? I always knew there was something off about you." He pointed accusatory at me as he said it but I was too out of it to be offended.  
"What? My personality?" I asked dryly and my elbow slipping on the window so I slid down it a bit but Claire righting me again.  
"Yeah, yeah," said Zach, going with the idea as we turned to him. "We're gonna ..." His voice lowered and became raspy. "We're gonna anal probe you."  
"Zach!" Claire chastised and I wiped my smirk off my face so she wouldn't think I found it funny. "Stop scaring him!"  
"I'm not coming out until mom and dad get home," Lyle insisted and nervously licking his lips as he stared at the steering wheel and again avoiding our eyes.  
"No, no, no. You cannot tell them," Claire pleaded and I straightened as her voice became shaky and my insides beginning to ache at the sound. "Lyle, please they cannot find out about this."  
"Why not?" He asked but his voice quieter now and less scared then it was a moment ago.  
"Don't you get it? If they found out, mom and dad would think it was a mistake to ever adopt me. We wouldn't be a family anymore. Please," her fingers tightened on the glass of the window as she begged and I watched her and the movements of her face and her fingers and her voice and everything and was reminded again just how deeply and hopelessly I loved her. There was a silence around the thought and I looked up, suddenly afraid that I had spoken aloud but then Lyle slowly unlocked and opened the door and I laid that brief panic to rest. He stepped out of the car and held out the tape to her which she took and slipped into her back pocket and holding there for a moment so she'd remember the feel and if that went away.  
"Thank you," she said quietly.  
"Whatever," he shrugged off and she wrapped her arms around him with her head against his neck and he briefly obliged her by patting her back but the moment ruined by Zach jumping out at them and yelling which Claire retaliated with by hitting him in the arm but this time I didn't take half the blame of.

"And what did it say?" Claire asked, leaning forward so her hair brushed over mine and her knees but everything was settled so it didn't distract me this time and all I could see was the words on the file and the photo of Mr. Bennet and the fact that we'd had it for almost ten years and never once did I think to look and try to piece it together to make it make sense. Even now it didn't make sense. Was my mutation – mine and Claire's – just genetic shit that didn't belong? Was it a disease? Was it hereditary – from my dad? But then where did she get hers if not from her birth parents? Why were they who figured this out and how and why were they going to do the "testing?" And what did Mr. Bennet have to do with it if any of it? Or his friend – the quiet man I'd come to call him in my thoughts and wish I didn't every time I did. None of it made sense and I was the last person to be asked about something like that and yet here I was. Life was funny sometimes.  
"That it was hereditary. That it was abnormal that they wanted to do tests," I rambled off the list and growing more agitated as I said it out loud with no cushioning of sarcasm around it to make it seem less realistic. Anything can look pathetic if you think it in a certain way with a comical detailing around the sides.  
"Tests? Who wanted to do tests?" She was leaning forward more intently now and I could smell the scent of her perfume crisp and sweet and making me dizzy.  
"I don't know, it said," I turned back to the foot of her bed to where I'd sworn I'd left my bag but finding the space empty but for where I dropped my jacket. I rapidly looked over the other side before climbing off the bed and looking under the quilts. Shit no ...  
"What?" Claire asked and stepping off the bed to join me.  
"I can't find my bag," I said and sprinting over to her dresser and looking under it but no logical hiding place for it and no logical reason why I would hide it in the first place. If it was me it was safe but it wasn't ... A door opened and closed downstairs and we both stiffened at the sound.  
"Maybe dad can help us look," she offered and opened the door to jog down the stairs. Everything inside me went cold and I tore after her as I heard her and Mr. Bennet were talking in the kitchen and I stood on guard as she said something and he laughed and I ducked before he could look my way and into the den / office. It was dark inside but I could see from the kitchen lights and saw my bag draped over the desk with the flap of it closed. I sprinted over to it to hug it to my chest as the light switch turned on and I turned around to see Mr. Bennet behind me and Claire behind him.  
"Oh good you found it," he smiled tiredly and the light reflected off the frame of his glasses to make him look warmer but for the first time since I had known him I didn't know any love or affection or even wariness or suspicion. I felt fear. I felt anger. And I felt hate. That he had pretended that nothing had happened when it did, that he was in "league" with the quiet man, that he was standing before me with a tired smile on his face and looking every inch a loving father and husband while mine was dead and rotting and my last remaining memories of him were tainted by a file and a photo of him that brought up questions I didn't want to ask with answers no one would ever be ready for. And least of all me.  
"Yeah I did," I held it up so he could see and holding it into my stomach. He nodded, waiting for me to say something next and I couldn't think of anything when I could feel that force building in my stomach that when unleashed could crack walls and break windows and I had only felt the full force of once.  
"Well ... we better get ready for bed," I gestured to Claire behind him as she raised her hand and waved so we'd recognize she was there. "Night." He barely finished out his own goodnight before I rushed by him and up the stairs to Claire's room with the sound of her footsteps loud behind me. I dumped my bag on my bed as she closed the door behind us and my hands stilled as I reached inside and came back empty.  
"What is it?" Claire asked, at my side and lifting the flap as I tore through it again but only finding an old chap stick and some crumbled Kleenex.  
"It's gone," I said quietly and with panic settling and smothering my chest. The bag was empty. The file – and papers and photo – were gone.


	8. 108 Seven Minutes to Midnight

The door violently slammed back and against the window – undoubtedly putting a crack in the glass – as I ran through it and sliding around the table and into the hall and then office. My heart was pounding out an uneven rhythm and I couldn't remember how exactly I got home. Running I presume but the details were a little fuzzy. I stopped to catch my breath by the door but then froze mid breath when I realized that it was closed. I'd left it open. I swallowed hard and leaned away from it a moment and up to the darkened staircase.  
"Mom?" It came out cautious but echoed in the empty house and nothing to answer it though I was begging that she would. To say she closed the door, to explain the file and what it meant and most of all just to mean that she was home for once. I turned back to the door and nervously opened it and letting the heaviness of the room settle over me and weigh me down. It looked the same – felt the same – but there was something off about it and when I looked over at the desk and chair I saw why. The drawer I had accidentally pulled out was back in its place and the stack of papers I'd knocked over again standing but significantly shorter then it was before. My fingers trembled on the door handle and my vision tunnelled. This couldn't be happening. I slowly walked over to the stack and pulled my chair with me so I could sit as I went through the top pages and not knowing what I wanted to find but knowing that it was gone now. Taxes, old bills, an old drawing I did of the front of the house with dramatic licenses taken. Further proof that I would never be an artist. I lowered myself to the ground and flipped through the drawings underneath it and finding one that was cheerfully written as being done at age six. It was me, mom and dad in all our stick form beauty holding hands and with smiles too big for our faces. Way too big. Like the red was eating the black a bit. I smiled faintly at it and leaned back against the desk as I looked at it and trying to find some sort of recognition between the two of us even though one of us felt a little too real for comfort and the other grotesquely cartoon. But she was smiling. And there didn't seem to be anything hidden behind which was something to hope for. I shifted and something hardened underneath me and I reached down and fished something out from under my legs. It was a paper clip. My stomach cracked and turned to stone in my stomach and I turned it over in my hand and lay it on top of the drawing where it dropped and fell over the image of me and blocking the smile.

"So ... why did you bring me over here?" Zach was asking as I pulled him into the office and closing the door behind him. The blinds rattled against the glass as I did and I checked it once more to see that it was firmly closed before stepping back. "Whoa." I turned and saw him looking around the cluttered office and maybe sensing as much as he saw the heaviness of the room and looking back to me as if waiting for me to explain or realize I made a mistake and kick him out.  
"You say that a lot," I said instead, and walking around him to the stack of papers and with effort separating it into two piles and moving them apart so there was a distinction.  
"Say what?" He asked and dropping his bag beside him so he could sit at my side and in front of one of the piles.  
"Whoa," I said and adding more papers to his stack so it was childishly higher. He glanced down at it and eyebrows as it become closer with eye level. "So." I put my hands on my stack so he knew would be what I was referring too. "I need you to help me go through these. Pull out anything that looks to be about me or is suspicious or just anything that isn't a bill, a tax drawing or a poorly done illustration of my childhood." I held up the drawing with the too big smiles as example. "If you find anything I'll buy you dinner. And break!" I instantly picked a smaller pile off of the large one and flipped through them nothing more noteworthy then one of my old report cards and the realization that at one point I actually put effort into my work. Zach looked at me funny for a moment – which I ignored, easier that way to ignore all of them instead of the occasional one aimed directly at you – before sighing and starting on his own pile but less enthused about it as I was.

"So ... don't you usually ask Claire for help with this stuff?" He wondered when I had made it halfway through my stack and him about a quarter. I felt bad about purposefully giving him more and silently vowed to buy him dinner anyway.  
"Yeah, you'd think," I turned a page over and saw that it was a note about dinner with someone named Maury and tossed it into the "of less interest" pile.  
"So ... why not?" He glanced at me sideways and I turned my Level Four swimming lesson diploma over in my hands and ignoring the question. Because she's sweet and she's innocent and she's good and she shouldn't have to deal with the shit in the world that was better suited to people like me. Because I had told her that I must have read the words wrong and she half believed me with the characteristic that I was overly dramatic and she accepted it because in her misguided way she loved me and that meant pretending that I wasn't as messed up as she was. Because it was her dad and I didn't want to get to the point where I'd have to find out if she took his side over mine.  
"Because ...," I stopped as I realized I didn't know exactly how to answer and tossing the various smart aleck remarks I could answer with back and forth inside my head. Because I prefer your company. Because this is all you're good for. Because I don't want to get Claire's hands dirty and – my personal favorite – because I'm seducing you and this is how I flirt. "Because Claire has enough to worry about right now without my shit getting in the way." I brushed back my hair and tossed the "diploma" to the side and starting to work on the others. It took me a moment to realize he wasn't working and I looked up at him to see that he was watching me sadly and his fingers still resting on a page. I tapped the page to indicate that he should get back to work and stop looking at me like I was worth pitying. He only got half the message though and continued to work but glancing over at me with the same look.  
"I'm sure she wouldn't mind," he said quietly and looking over to make sure I heard. I wrestled with pretending that I didn't and acknowledging that I did and stopped somewhere in the middle so I froze and not even sure what I was holding or what it said.  
"I know she wouldn't mind," I said carefully and rolling the paper between my fingers so the edges curled in. "It's just ..." Just what? Just that I was scared and I didn't properly remember how to be and that it was that Claire would actually take a step back and see how fucked I was and that I wasn't worth the effort. I knew it and everyone else knew it but she didn't and I didn't think I'd survive if she knew. I suddenly wanted to throw something and settled for the rolled up piece of paper which didn't take much air and instead floated back towards the floorboards and something smug about the way it landed.  
"Just what?" I jumped slightly when I realized he was still sitting there and waiting for an answer and busied myself with my pile as if in doing so I could rewind the last minute and pretend that I wasn't startled by it.  
"Just ... Claire shouldn't have to put up with this. That's all," I shrugged it off and flipped through some more report cards and the last one dated on March 5, 1998. The cut off to when I could still pretend that I was normal and when everything started steadily going downhill. As proven by my report cards not here and the occasional visit to the principal that never quite made it to my mother.  
"Okay," he accepted and we fell into a silence balanced between awkward and comfortable as we continued looking and he sent me glances as if waiting to see if I would break down again or it was a onetime thing. I ignored it and continued looking through the papers that had summed up the first eight years of my life. All the boring stuff (bills, taxes, the occasional paperwork from the factory where he worked and for some reason kept) and the stuff that made me pause and question why he kept it (artwork that I did, a play I wrote once that was about a duck and a fish that made no sense but maybe once did, report cards and diplomas for swimming lessons passed and dancing classes that I put a year and a half into before deciding that it wasn't for me and wanting to catch bugs instead ...). Eight years and before and it was all in these papers spread out in front of me and it was too much and at the same time not enough. It was why neither mom nor I had come in here for three years and why even before then we came in and left just as quickly before we'd have a chance to look around. To see what we lost or could have had. What he took with him and we couldn't get back so we avoided each other in hopes that we could find it on our own. Or at least what I used to try. I gave up on that a couple years ago and embraced the delinquency decline that my life was taking and going with it rather than fighting it. It was easier that way. Giving up and letting everyone else think the same. Better than them putting in effort and finding it pointless as I smiled back at them and telling them to go fuck themselves and their pity. They could have it. I didn't need it. I had this: this stack of papers and memories and the drawing still beside me that I didn't recognize and the too big smiles.

"Sorry we didn't find what you were looking for," Zach apologized, winding his bike down the darkening street and this time experience allowing me to sit on the handlebars easier so I didn't feel like I was going to fall off or suffer an embarrassing accident that would _not _be one to tell the children.  
"It's cool," I shrugged, leaning back against him too comfortably too do it properly so I just lifted and pressed my shoulder to my chin before dropping it again as a way of compensating. It wasn't okay but it was exhausting being vulnerable for no matter how long so I'd opted to being that bitter one with no future again. It felt safer there. Buried underneath everything where it was warm and dark and there was a long way to the surface.  
"Maybe it was just the only paperwork he had," he offered and a pair of headlights blinding us as the car passed and making my vision even darker for a moment.  
"Maybe ...," I agreed but it didn't explain why what I did have had gone missing from my bag. Unless I had imagined it. Unless I just saw what I wanted to see – some answers where I hadn't looked in so long and enough questions to briefly put me back on track and away from the edge. But now they weren't there and I was even more confused and frustrated then I was before and the logic behind it making no sense. Going insane was exhausting.  
"So, about that dinner ...," he parked to a stop in front of Claire's driveway and offered out a hand so he could help me down and this time finding a balance so he could hold me and his bike at the same time. I took it as I dropped off onto the pavement and looking up at the house with the windows brightly lit up and such stark comparison to how I left mine: empty and dark.  
"Yeah?" I asked and turning back to him as he bounced his wheel against the ground for a moment and adjusting his grip on the bars. I waited for him as he stared up at the windows and rethinking what he was going to say and judging what my reaction would be to it if he told me.  
"Instead of dinner do you think I could maybe take the offer and ... just make it so that we be friends instead?" He turned down to look at me and the light from Claire's window made the shadows around him more pronounced and my eyes hurting to look at him. I blinked a couple times and changed the angle that I stood.  
"Is that code for hitting on me?" I asked, honestly having no idea. It had been a while. He burst out laughing, ducking his head to look down at his feet and try to control himself before looking back up and his shoulders shaking from trying to hold it back.  
"No, trust me no," he said and still grinning but maybe realizing that it wasn't nice of him to be and trying to swallow it.  
"I could have been hurt by that reaction," I said dryly, surprisingly not but thinking I should point it out anyway.  
"I know. I'm sorry you're just ... you're not my type," he nodded at me and eyebrows cocked suddenly so I'd understand and I nodded to show that I did. "I just ... I want to be your friend."  
"Why?" It blurted out before I could stop it but it was more habit then actual curiosity as I'd learned so helpfully over the years that most people who wanted to be close to me more out of wanting something for themselves then for me and leaving once they realized I wasn't offering. He shrugged like he hadn't thought of it and that it hadn't occurred to him to.  
"I don't know. You're kind of awesome I guess that's it," he laughed shyly and I found that I liked the sound. "You're just ... you're not as bad as you think people think you are. And I think more people want to be your friend then you realize you just ... push them away." I stared at him, feeling off center like a painting that had gone crooked and I couldn't straighten.  
"Okay ...," I said it slowly and biting back the slew of comments that I was thinking and could follow. Thanks, you cured me now let's go hold hands and dance through a field along with everyone else who supposedly love me but instead call me whore and bitch behind my back. But that was mean and I was settling between the two different comfort levels I had (Bitch and break down) and finding one somewhere in the middle that on anyone else would be considered a bad day. He nodded to show he understood and I stepped closer and on my toes to press my lips against his cheek as he stiffened then relaxed and I pulled away awkwardly pulling my hair over my shoulder.  
"Thanks," I explained and he nodded, blushing in the evening light and tapping his handlebars again as if his work was done and he was now impatient to leave. "So ... I'll see you tomorrow?"  
"Yeah," he grinned and already turning his bike again to face the end of the driveway. "See you tomorrow." I waved as he started biking away and disappeared behind a line of trees before appearing again as he went past it then gone and back and gone and back until he turned a corner and went off down another street. I watched after him for a moment and feeling exhausted from the past two days like someone had wrung me out and put me back together inside out and that I didn't work properly that way. Friend. I hadn't even called Claire a friend in years. Not until we reached that point where she inhaled and I exhaled in the silence of it and determined that what we had went deeper than that. But a friend. One who wanted me and wanted me just for me and none of the strings attached that they could pull. I wasn't sure if I liked it. But after everything that was what made me sad. That I couldn't remember having a friend and even if I did couldn't remember what it was like or if I wanted it. A breeze came through the trees and chilled me and I turned to start up the driveway when the skin at the back of my neck prickled and I ran the last steps and into the house as I recognized the sensation and the silence around it that someone – somewhere – was watching me.


	9. 109 Homecoming

A blast of hot air hit me full in the face as we walked out into courtyard and I blinked against it as it made my eyes water and the collection of students lying over the steps going hazy. Ah Texas. When you don't love the accents or the ten gallon cowboy hats we have the heat! Brought to you by Sarcasm.  
"So do they actually believe that pudding is a vegetable?" Zach asked, turning to the two of us and gesturing vaguely to his tray and a breeze riffling both mine and Claire's hair over our faces so we didn't have to pretend to be interested. And that was Zach with general interests. Now to Tracy with sports, Tracy?  
"What can I say? It's America," I shrugged as we got closer to the steps and the cheerleaders sprawled over the lower ones and glaring at us as we passed. Jackie was sitting in front and somehow managing to be pure evil and looking casual and comfortable while doing it. It was inspiring really. I'd really have to ask her how she did it some time. Something caught up under my feet and I fell almost face first into the concrete and only my hands breaking my fall. The girls all started giggling at first and I froze for a moment feeling overheated and slowly stood and reminding myself that they were bitches and it would be worse if I reacted – or worse cried. Claire slipped her arm through mine to help me up and threw a glance at the girls that would have chilled anyone and continued her walk up the steps so her hand dropped to mine and I could feel her fingers gentle against the burn of my palm.  
"You alright?" Zach asked, leaning past Claire as we found a spot and sitting and the one pair of jeans I had that weren't ripped now showing wear at the knee. I brushed them off and prolonged putting off answering as I pieced back together the parts of me that were hurt.  
"Just making me more comfortable on their level," I shrugged and I took a swipe of Zach's pudding and held it out to Claire who sucked it off the end of my finger before turning her tray away from her and restlessly tapping her fingers to my knee as I licked the rest off. Not vegetable more caramel. Unless that was a vegetable too. God bless America.  
"Oh, look, the principal's gonna post the homecoming queen announcement," Zach informed and jerking his chin to the door where Principals Marks was walking with two other faculty members and looking surprised to see people sitting out on the steps during lunch. Ah students!  
"Whoopee," Claire said dryly and taking her own swipe at Zach's pudding and holding it out to me. Zach watched the two of us with slightly raised eyebrows as she sucked off what I missed and wiping her hand clean on her skirt.  
"Well ... aren't you going to see if you won?" He wondered, recovering from being witness to our moment and gesturing to them with the light catching off his wrist watch and making it blinding.  
"What's the point?" She shrugged, tendrils of hair billowing around her face with the wind and making it look like a softened halo around her head. Or at least what I assumed halos looked like. They had a habit of burning whenever I got close ...  
"You're a finalist, Claire," Zach reminded her with a smirk and leaning in close. "Go." The cheerleaders were off in a flurry from the bottom steps and Jackie purposefully walking through them while straightening her skirt. Wonder how much distance I could get on a pudding cup and whether I could somehow nail them all at once ... Claire sighed and looked over at me as if looking for permission or that last push to convince her and I cupped her chin and pecked her cheek as my answer and she reluctantly got up to join everyone else going to see the results and a blush faint on her cheeks. Though it could have just as easily been wishful thinking.  
"Come on," Zach said, pulling me up by the arm to my feet and along with the crowd but over the steps instead of through the courtyard. We passed by someone's tray with an unopened Fruit Roll-Up and I bent down to steal it before unwrapping and discarding the package.  
"So ... seriously are you alright?" Zach continued, hands digging into his pockets and the pair of headphones he almost always had around his neck reflecting off the sun and making him a hazard to anyone who wished to look at him directly. Which luckily for the populace – and unlucky for him – no one usually did. I had made peace with it though.  
"Yeah, why?" I wondered and unravelling it from the thin sheeting between layers and pulling it between my teeth so I looked like I had a very prolonged and colourful tongue. Should spruce up my appearance for the time being. Until I ate it and had to find something else. How tragic that that is how most of the things I love end up?  
"Well the Jackie tripping you thing must have sucked but what about the file? Did you ask your mom?" He stumbled over a bag someone had left behind and I held out my arm to take so he could regain his balance before dropping it and beginning to devour "my tongue."  
"No. I didn't ask my mom," I said, voice level but bubbled up with other things I wanted to say but knew better than to say out loud. No, I didn't talk to my mom I was a little too distracted by the feeling that someone was watching me to be anything other than a polite houseguest and a restless bed mate until finally Claire shoved a pillow between and making me cuddle that instead. And it has been over ten hours since then and nothing unusual and out of the ordinary so I was going to enjoy eating my "tongue" and pretend it never happened and that my life was miserable and bitter but for the most part uncomplicated. Zach took my "distraction" as conversation over and pulled me over and closer to the railing where on the other side the cheerleaders had gathered looking confused with Jackie confused and Claire in the middle looking disbelieving and the three of them connecting so I let out an almost high pitched shriek (mouth still full mind) and everyone turned and flinched and I was clapping as hard and loud as I could as everyone else around me caught on. Claire turned to look up at us and as her eyes met mine her face lit and I let anything and everything from the past few days shrink and lock itself away as she started to laugh and breaking my heart on how beautiful it was.  
"Shut up, you freaks," Jackie screamed as we started to chant Claire's name and breaking free of the crowd so she could stalk off and back into the school with her fists clenched at her sides. _That _was also beautiful.

"Congratulations Claire," A blonde hair with glasses breathlessly professed as we passed and waving eagerly as we did.  
"Thanks so much!" Claire called after her, fingers tightening in mine as she turned and should briefly grinding against my own. "I don't know that girl." She turned back to me as if expecting that I would. I didn't but she seemed nice.  
"Holla to the queen," a boy from a picnic bench called over, comic book in hand and hair frizzled like he'd recently stuck a finger in a light socket. I gave him the Vulcan Salute and his book dropped as he realized that I knew it and the reveal "book drop" worthy.  
"Holla back," Claire attempted excitedly before her face falling when she replayed it to herself. Everybody who wasn't my friend is now my friend, and everybody who was my friend, isn't."  
"Glad I made such a big impression," I said dryly and she grinned and pressed her lips to my cheek to placate me.  
"Well, it's not a popularity contest; it's an unpopularity contest 'cause you rocked the freak vote," Zach explained with a grin and leading us into the shade of the hallway where more people continued to stare at us and the attention daunting.  
"I what?" Claire asked confused and her face endearingly scrunched.  
"Look, everybody who's like Jackie voted for Jackie, and everybody who isn't voted for you," Zach continued, gesturing as he talking and as if pointing out his invisible argument as he did. Bitches = Jackie, Freaks = Claire. Ah yes! So much easier to understand when someone explained it to me. I inwardly rolled my eyes. "...Made for a good campaign strategy." We stopped at his locker and he started riffling through it and leaning his shoulder against the edge.  
"You campaigned for me?" Claire asked, arms crossed over her chest and somehow still managing to hold my hand underneath them. "Why? You think all this school spirit stuff is stupid."  
"I never said it was stupid," he defended, pulling a heavy book off of the top shelf and dropping it into the crook of his arm. "I said it's beneath you. But obviously it's important so whatever." He closed his locker with his shoulder and brushed off his comment with an embarrassed laugh. "Now you have a little piece of your old life back, okay? Just don't start acting like a bitch again." Claire grinned and shyly glanced over at me and I returned it, ignoring the "bitch" comment and just happy to see her happy.  
"Look, I got this off of the internet," He held up the book from his arm and the title "Activating Evolution" boldly printed across the cover. Warning people what they were getting into. How thoughtful. "It supposedly has this really big chapter on spontaneous regeneration, so I thought it might enlighten you on the whole Miracle –Gro of it all." He handed it to her and she finally had to drop my hand to take it and flipping cautiously through the pages. I looked over her shoulder at the black and white pictures and words and more curious about it that it had caught her attention then interested in the material itself. She slowly closed it over her fingers and looked up at him in bewilderment as Zach shrank back at the look and perceiving it that he had done something wrong.  
"What's with you?" He asked, glancing over at me as if I knew the answer and would tell him for her.  
"You're being so nice," she said for me and holding the book closer to her chest. "I've never been this nice. I mean, I've been nice, but I could be nicer."  
"Then why don't you?" He asked, his eyes squinting slightly with the question and an answer she couldn't vocalize herself half formed on her lips.  
"Congratulations, Claire," A voice said behind us and we turned to see Jackie and her followers taking up half the hallway and a false smile plastered to her permanently pursed lips. "Mmm, is the gay boy your date?" She looked over at Zach smugly who dropped his gaze to the floor and dug his toe into the tile. "Or maybe it's your freak friend." She now turned to me and her eyes cold as she took me in. "Warning: she may look like she does but she doesn't put out." Something cold settled in my stomach and my vision tunnelled so all I could see was her and her fake grin. Memory pummeled in my stomach so I almost doubled over but there was a thud and her head snapped back as she fell and everything returned to relative normalcy as she hit the ground and her followers gathering as Claire stepped back and her fist still clenched.

"What? That is so unfair!" Claire practically screamed her outrage and stood as she did so. I followed suit to add weight to the gesture.  
"Hon?" Sandra asked, standing by the window so the light faded her outline and conversationally pleading.  
"I've already made up my mind," Mr. Bennet said without turning, his back to us and looking over his desk and to the window. I could barely see his reflection on the glass and his eyes were downcast so I couldn't read their expression.  
"You are being completely unreasonable," Claire continued, hands tightened into fists at her sides and trying to hold onto anything that would make the situation worse. "Do you have any idea what it means for me to miss this game?" He finally turned and looked at us.  
"You'll survive," he said simply but something about the way he said it making my chest feel cold.  
"But dad ...!" Her self control broke and the hurt in her voice making me feel heavy where I had just been cold.  
"No, you listen and you listen good," he stood so his chair wheeled back and came to stand in front of us and towering over us both. "As long as you live under my roof, you will do as I say. You may not agree, but don't think that for a moment that that matters. You are not leaving this house tonight. Is that clear?" He stared her down as Sandra uncomfortably shifted and Claire's face hardened, her fingers grasping together at her hip.  
"Crystal," She forced the word out between her teeth and took my hand to lead me through the glass doors and her grip tight but not unwanted.  
"Oh and Jess?" I turned back at the sound of his voice and Claire stopping in the hall still holding my hand and the only thing that kept my thoughts quiet when they screamed at him that he had hurt her and that was not okay. Whether it was obvious or not he didn't comment and instead looked at me calmly, hands folded in front of him.  
"You should probably stay home tonight too. Set an example," His smile was meant to be kind but his eyes were solemn and I hated the order that was behind them. Something hardened in my chest and I for a moment I imagined that it was my dad standing in front of me and that Mr. Bennet had shifted to cover him so that I saw his face and heard his words instead.  
"You're not my dad," I said it as coldly as I could and knew my words hit their mark as Sandra exhaled and Mr. Bennet's eyes softened so he looked winded and like he was going to double over.  
"I know," he said it quietly and I took it as a dismissal and followed Claire back upstairs.

_Guess Who? _I sent the text and waited, fingers anxiously moving over the keyboard as I waited for her reply and pressing down on the space key whenever the light of the keys faded. Mr. Bennet insisted on paying my phone bill but for once I wasn't feeling guilty about the generosity. My phone beeped and I quickly read the text she sent back: _Someone tall, dark and beautiful? _I grinned bigger then I should have and let myself reread it twice before replying, Zach hovering by my shoulder and glancing nervously back and forth over the front of the house and gripping the bottom of the ladder.  
"You sure this is going to work?" He asked, leaning closer as she replied and the light shifting above from her window.  
"If it doesn't there's always jail," I commented cheerfully and started to climb up the rungs while he lightly held my legs and then feet before following. I stopped at the top and could see her sitting on her bed through the curtains and took the moment to watch her as she tossed her Sidekick between her hands and waiting for my answer. I smiled as she tucked her hair over her shoulder and the light cast over her lap and making her look larger than life which in my head made more sense than how she was perceived to everyone else.  
"Um? Jess?" Zach asked below me and I roused myself from my smitten stupor. I rapped my knuckles against the window and she turned sharply at the sound before grinning when she guessed who it was. She rolled off the bed and to the sill where she opened the latch and held back the curtain.  
"What's going on?" She asked, holding out a hand and helping me through the window and over the seat situated below it.  
"We're here to rescue you," Zach called from behind me and almost forgotten as Claire jumped back from closing the frame.  
"And I left my cheerleaders uniform here," I commented and walked over to her chair where the pile of clean clothes was and mine almost indistinguishable amongst hers. I pulled my outfit from the top and waved it victoriously before realizing that now I found it I had to wear it.  
"Guys, I can't. I'm grounded," she protested and leaning against the wall beside the window where Zach sat on the sill.  
"No one grounds the Queen," Zach grinned and jerking his head out onto the dark street. "Come on."  
"Yeah, tell that to my dad," she said bitterly and nodding at the closed door. I avoided glancing at it and the memory of how quiet he was when I made the excuse earlier and left.  
"You only get to be Homecoming Queen once," Zach continued and swinging his legs through the opening and onto the pillows filling the seat. "You know what? You've already cemented your victory in the eyes of the student body by punching Jackie." They both tried and failed not to glance at me so I busied myself counting ceiling tiles. Which I now realized she did not have ...  
"Plus, if you back out now, she becomes queen," He stood up onto the carpet and tucked his hands deeper into his pockets and almost knocking the hanging light with his shoulder. Claire let the idea sink in and looked over at me for my advice before realizing that this – and well ... never – was not the time when I'd be the voice of reason.  
"My dad would pitch a fit," she stepped away from the window – and temptation – and sitting down heavily on her bed.  
"So what?" I asked and they looked over at me where I still stood and passing my uniform from hand to hand. "So he grounds you more. He double grounds you. He'll try to ground me too and we all know that'll be fun." She grinned and looked down at her hands. "But you deserve this. You really do." She looked up at me again and I smiled as she did and watching whatever reservations she had crumble.  
"Okay," she said and bouncing off the mattress so one of the pillows fell to the carpet. "But only if you'll be my date."  
"Duh, only reason why I'm going," I insisted and amused that she even had to ask.

"Do you think we still have time to change?" Claire asked as we ran through the empty hallways and something eerie about the way our footsteps echoed.  
"I hope not. I think I could go onto the field naked with more dignity then wearing this poor excuse of clothing," I waved the uniform to indicate it and Claire laughed as we came around a corner and running head first into a man standing in front of the trophy case.  
"Oh sorry!" He said quickly as Claire dropped her bag in the confusion and lowering himself to kneel to pick it up for her again.  
"That's my fault," she insisted and took it back from him as he flicked his hair out of his eyes and I found myself stopping with my heart tripping over its beats. "I wasn't looking where he was going." He grinned so she'd know it was okay and I had a hard time keeping my footing as she turned to lead me away.  
"Hey, do you ... do you know this girl, Jackie Wilcox?" He called after us and I turned to face him again as Claire nudged me forward and seeing the signs before I processed them. He gestured to the trophy case and I cautiously walked over to stand next to him and feeling uncertain in a way like my bones had shifted under my skin and I had to think on how to find them again.  
"Uh ... yeah," I said and not recognizing myself in the reflection of the glass where the newspaper articles were displayed and Jackie's hateful smile on every one. "She's a cheerleader she'll be out in the field soon." I snuck a glance over at him and maybe noticing it he looked my way and smiled so his lips pulled to one side and I felt unsteady on my feet. "Are you a ... reporter?"  
"Alumni. I'm just curious," He winked good naturally and I missed the chance to catch his eye colour and feeling strangely sad that I did. I nodded to take it as a dismissal and started to walk backwards towards Claire and running my fingers along the sill of the trophy case to continue watching him before reluctantly turning back. I froze with my warped reflection from the back of the water fountain and something about the way I saw it that made me look back again.  
"She's really not that special," I told him and he turned to face me with his eyes kind and expectant. "Just an average girl." I shrugged like it didn't mean anything even as I said it and wondering who I was really talking about.  
"She saved a man's life that seems pretty special to me," he said with a non committal shrug and his head titled so his bangs draped over his cheek and the shadow it made jagged.  
"You're right," I conceded and the dust from the sill making my fingers soft. "I'm just jealous. She's the town hero and I'm ..." What was I? I had spent my life letting other people decide that for me and now didn't even know how to answer it for myself. Even to an attractive stranger. He waited for me to finish and instead of taking the encouragement I simply smiled at him and left it empty as I turned again to walk away.  
"Hey, it gets better!" His voice echoed through the hallway and I looked over my shoulder at him as he encouragingly smiled.  
"What?" I asked, blanking for a moment.  
"Life after High School. It gets better," He smiled wider and the lights from above him caught along the edge of his face. Brown. His eyes were brown.

I pulled my shoe up onto the bench to tie the laces and my fingers fumbling over the strings. Two girls I knew by face but not name watched me and whispered behind their hands with cruel grins and a laugh that was like a knife wedged between my ribs. I dropped my hands to the edges of the wood and dug my fingers into the sides as nervous energy made my blood feel hot and none of my thoughts make sense. My leg stretched out in front of me as Claire pulled my foot into her lap and started to tie them for him and taking the hint that I was unable to. It wasn't just the stranger – no matter how attractive he was – it was everything and now before the half time I was feeling it. Great time to start having a mental breakdown Jess, you sure know how to pick them.  
"Will the nerviness never cease?" Jackie demanded and walking around the lockers so everyone else gathered and standing around to watch. Claire ignored her for the moment and pulled my other leg up into my lap and started to tie that shoe as well. "I thought you were grounded." She finally looked up and digging her fingers into the rubber of my sole.  
"It didn't take," she said simply and let my leg drop onto the tile so my toes pressed into the surface.  
"How did that happen?" Jackie asked, arms crossed over her chest and resting her weight on one side.  
"I have a ladder," I spoke up and she barely glanced at me as if acknowledging that I wasn't even worth that much attention. One of the girls from across the room took the awkward moment to start practicing her cheer and everyone else took it up as they followed her to the doors and Claire standing up to join them. I put a hand on her wrist.  
"I'll be out in a minute," I told her as Jackie turned to her locker and reapplying concealer under her eye. Claire glanced between us and worriedly stepped closer. "I'll be fine." I kissed her cheek and with that reassurance she picked up her pom-poms from the bench and looked once more between the two of us before walking around the lockers and to the door. Her footsteps echoed on the tile before being cut off by the sound of the door swinging shut. It was quiet now so I could hear my own heart beat and the energy in my veins like something poisonous and heavy and making me angrier now that we were alone.  
"How's your eye?" I asked and her eyes met mine in her mirror before she closed the door and blocking her reflection from view.  
"You have a lot of nerve," she said it through her teeth and her fingers trembling so they rattled against the metal and dropping them so the sound would stop. "Coming onto this team and acting like nothing happened. That you're not responsible." She laughed but there was no humor in it and the room seemed to get colder as she touched on what she never said aloud but was behind every time she looked at me and when she couldn't even bear to do that.  
"I didn't do anything," It was quiet in my voice but came out loud in the room and raw in my throat. She turned around to face and her eyes were cold.  
"Why do you even bother? Coming to school and acting like nothing gets to you. No one wants you here. Everyone hates you. The only reason you're even on the team is because Claire begged me to let you join," she was breathless as she spoke and her smile hard as she scanned my face for a reaction. I didn't give her one. I knew that already. All of it. And hearing it aloud was no more harsh then in my own head and so I smiled faintly at her so she knew it didn't hurt me. Her eyes narrowed and I was struck for a moment by how much she looked like him and that by default it was why I hated her so much. She stepped closer so that our noses almost touched.  
"It's your fault he's gone," Her voice was a harsh whisper and I let it sink in before replying.  
"I didn't do anything," It didn't sound any more convincing then the first time but I said it anyway. She scoffed but before she could add anything the lights buzz and all at once went out.

My heart dropped into my stomach and I turned in the darkness as the emergency lights came on behind the lockers and barely outlining them so their shadows become misshapen and stretching over the walls.  
"Public schools suck," Jackie groaned from behind me and the shadows changed as something moved and I spun back around to see if it had been her but saw that she was standing just as I'd left her.  
"Did you see that?" I asked, my ears strained and my heart rate going so fast that my skin seemed to be moving in the pulse of it.  
"See what?" She asked, bored and forgetting the tension from a moment ago. She started to walk between a line of lockers and I ran up to walk beside her and everything looking foreign now that I was seeing it in near darkness.  
"Hello?" I called cautiously and my voice echoed through the emptiness before being swallowed by the concrete.  
"Stop it, you're freaking me out," Jackie warned and looking back over her shoulder to glare at me.  
"I thought I saw something," I swallowed the dryness on my tongue and the feeling like my skin was coming apart under my heart beat. Should I build a force field just in case? Go invisible? If I took her hand could it cover both of us? I reached for her hand and she wrenched it out of my grip and her look of disgusted distorted by the light.  
"Ew just because you and Claire are Lesbo freaks doesn't mean that you get the luxury with me ...," her words cut short as an arm reached out of the dark, grabbed her by the throat and threw her back against the locker. Everything inside me froze as the man who had taken her lifted her up against the metal and her arms and legs scrambling to hit him as her breaths came out in harsh whimpers.  
"No!" Something in me snapped and I threw myself at him and clawing at his back to get a grip on anything and tearing it when I did. My vision was going red and all I could see was his dark shape pinning her and the look of terror on her face. "No! Let go of her." His arm snapped back to hit me and I fell back as whatever adrenaline I had in my veins came out on instinct and my fall cushioned as I hit the floor. It knocked the air out of me anyway and I felt the remains of energy scrambled between my fingers as I tried to get up but nothing was in its proper place and distorting as I tried to focus. Get up. You have to get up. You have to help Jackie. She screamed as I lifted my head and I could dimly see him lift his finger as if miming cutting her forehead and then there was blood dripping down her face. I pushed myself up onto my knees and then my feet and it all happened in slow motion as her arms stopped struggling and her knees kicking as the blood dripped onto the tiles and she cast a desperate glance to where I stood.  
"Run," she gasped and the man turned his attention to me and from the shadows I could see his eyes: wide open and staring at me. I shoved myself away from the wall and through the doors, a coldness down my spine as my feet vanished in front of me and I felt light headed running down the hall. Each one was empty and my breathing gave me away as I panted and trying not to cry as the lockers faded on either side of me and the colourful posters and signs that all looked dark and bloodstained and making me feel. But if I was sick then I'd have to stop and if I stopped then he'd kill me and the thought made me stumble and sob and run into something hard and whatever control I had over my invisibility flickered and faded.  
"Are you okay?" It was the stranger from earlier holding my arms and his eyes lit with terror as he took me in and the shadows moving behind him. I started to pull him along with me and he looked back over his shoulder to see the man watching us and his face obscured by the darkness of the hall. The stranger grabbed me by the arm and forced me into a run.  
"Run! Go!" I didn't have to be told twice and ran as fast as I could down the hall, my shoes loud against the tile and only the sound of it and my heartbeat enough to block out the sound of Jackie's last words: run.

The cold air hit me like a slap to the face and my breathing came out rough as I struggled not to cry and across the courtyard and to the steps. I had walked out to them just this morning complaining about the heat. Jackie had been with the girls when they tripped me. She had laughed and I had hated her. I sobbed at the memory and stumbled up the steps so the stone of them cut at my legs and ankles. Run. She had told me to run.  
"Hey, come on," the stranger was beside me and pulling me to my feet as we ran up the steps with his strides longer than mine. I was gasping around the knives in my chest and all I could see was a darkness stretching up the steps from the man waiting for us at the entrance. The stranger spun me to a stop at the top of them and searched around behind me as if looking for another way out.  
"What is it?" I gasped, the taste of something metallic on my tongue and making my head spin.  
"Go, to the stadium, okay? Find people, find lights he doesn't want to be seen," his face was close to mine as he spoke before he looked back down at the man who was still standing there watching us. Waiting.  
"What about you?" I demanded, fingers scrambled at his sleeve and refusing to stay steady.  
"Don't worry about me," he insisted and tried to push me into a run. "Go." I didn't move. "Go!" I stumbled into a run and bolted across the stone to the sidewalk and my heartbeat loud in my ears and in my chest. Run. She told me to run.

The doors slammed shut behind me and I stopped as I saw the crumbled mass and the blood pooled around it and staining the concrete.  
"No ...," I whispered and I ran over to where he lay and even from where I stood enough to tell me that he was dead. I stepped back as if the distance could deny my first reaction but as I did he suddenly gasped and lifted his head, coughing as he turned and revealing the bloodstained side of his face. My legs gave out beneath me and I crumbled to the concrete as he managed to sit up and with difficulty snapped his legs back into place and the cut over his forehead closing back in on itself.  
"You ..." He was like Claire. Like me. A breathless grin touched my lips as his jaw tightened then relaxed and the opening down his cheek healed and the only sign that it was ever there the blood still staining his shirt.  
"Where is he?" His voice came out gravelly and I followed his gaze around the darkened parking lot and every shadow ominous but none of them moving to give credibility as to why.  
"I don't ... I don't know," I swallowed hard and tried to calm my breathing but it resisted and came out harder than before.  
"Police. Go get some help, okay?" He turned back to face me and nodded to the sidewalk that the streetlights lined. I nodded.  
"Okay. I'll be right back," I pulled myself to my feet and started to run before I paused and turned back on my heel. "Hey. What's your name?"  
"Peter," he answered, looking up to me where I stood and blood smeared down the lines of his neck.  
"I'm Jessica," I filled in for him and watching his shoulders rise and fall with his breaths.  
"Are you the one? By saving you, did I save the world?" His eyes looked darker as he said it and I took a step back at the weight.  
"I don't know," It came out uncertain and I tried to breathe around the words but the question still lost in my throat. "I don't know." He didn't say anything just stared at me still breathless and I finally coaxed myself to move again and nothing but the look keeping me going.

"Jessica!" I turned around at the sound of her voice and then I was in Claire's arms and I was sobbing against her breast and clinging to her so I could feel her heart beat against my cheek and soft murmurs in my hair. She held me upright as my legs gave and through her arms I could see Mr. Bennet running towards us and for the first time in months the sight of him giving me more comfort then fear. He pulled the both of us into his arms and I held onto his jacket as they held me and the last hour rushing at me in pieces and each one splattered with the taste and sight of blood.  
"Peter," I pulled away and held onto a sleeve from both of them and ready to drag them back and after me. "Peter! We have to go back."  
"Jess," Mr. Bennet gripped my arms and held me steady as I tried to struggle but whatever had kept me going was gone now and I was exhausted and wanted to crawl back into bed and wake up to find that this was all a dream. "Jess. It's okay. You're safe now."  
"No I'm not the man ...," I tried to pull him but it was like I hadn't even tried from all the good it did. "Peter we have to ..." I wasn't making sense. My teeth were chattering and I felt sick and I wanted to cry but I was just so tired and Jackie ... Jackie.  
"You're lucky to be alive," he reached out to touch my face and I let him rest his hand against my cheek and reassured by how steady it was.  
"It wasn't luck," Claire's voice brought us back and we turned to see her standing next to us and staring down at the ground as if unsure that she had said them. She looked up again and met his eyes, swallowing hard and avoiding mine. "Dad ... we have to tell you something." Oh not now I just nearly died.


	10. 110 Six Months Ago

The girl next to me dodged out of the way as I performed an exaggerated hip thrust before shimmying down to rest on my ankles and back up to the same effect. She raised her eyebrows as I moved past but I ignored it and the other unseemly glances I was receiving. Their loss, I was a terrific dancer. I extravagantly bobbed my head to prove that point and continued to slide down the crowded hallway as it parted to let me pass. Like the Red Sea for Moses. Or the judgemental teens for the short one with mad skills.  
"I have no idea what my brother sees in you," Jackie commented as I slammed to a stop at the locker besides Claire's and ending my performance with nary a clapped hand to acknowledge it. Bastards.  
"Something your brain cells are obviously too stunted to see," I answered and rolling my head back against the locker to address her and Claire hiding her grin behind her locker her door. "Thank God it's not genetic." Jackie rolled her eyes at me and dramatically sighed before turning and walking down the hall away from us and her cheerleader skirt flouncing with the movement.  
"I thought it was pretty good," Claire congratulated, leaning back with her hands tightened on the metal of her shelf and keeping her from falling.  
"Why thank you," I curtsied – harder to do in jeans then you'd think – and was rewarded with a laugh that was shorter than the reaction in me warranted.  
"So what do you have Mark have planned for tonight?" She wondered, laugh still in her voice and on her lips as she pulled out her binder and let it rest heavily in the crook of her arm.  
"Dinner and a movie. My pick if I'm lucky. Second base if he is," I pressed my shoulder into the metal and felt it crackle back and forth under my weight. "What about you?"  
"I don't know," she sighed, dropping another binder onto the first and locking the door behind her. "Might try and figure out the new video camera dad got me. Way more complicated than it looks." She took my hand with her free one and laced her fingers through mine as she started to lead me down the hall.  
"Well if all goes well maybe we could use it to record a sex tape," I swung our clasped hands between us and a group of guys we passed raised their eyebrows as we did.  
"I'm not having a naked Max Wilcox on my video camera," she protested and directing us down another hallway and past the trophy case to my locker.  
"It's not for him. It's for us," I corrected and she threw her head back to laugh and exposing the soft lines of her neck that I resisted the urge to reach out and trace. Instead I satisfied myself with a kiss to her cheek and slinging my arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

I tossed my shoes onto the rack precariously set by the door and closed it behind me with a turn of my ankle. I nearly fell with the loss of balance and righted myself before anyone could see. It took me a moment for the sad realization to sink in that there was no one around to see. I shook the thought loose and ran my fingers around and over the table before walking to the kitchen and tipping my head under the faucet for the tepid water that I didn't want to wait to turn colder. I turned the tap off and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then in succession on the front of my jeans. There is a note taped to the fridge by the array of magnets that were obviously a wise investment but I don't bother to read it already knowing what it said: _I'm working late, don't wait up, there's food in the fridge, I love you yada yada _ I opened the fridge door and scanned the half empty shelves that probably weren't even worth that distinction. A half empty bag of milk, cartoon of – lifting the lid – egg, mouldy tomato and the ends of a loaf of bread that had probably been around since bread was discovered and we were the sole owners of that legacy. I shut the door behind me and rested my hands on the handles and ran my fingers over the bumpy grooves of the surface. Just under my touch on the right hand side was an invitation to a piano recital I'd been listed under to go to from almost a year ago. I ran my fingers under the fold and the lady bug magnet struggled under the pressure. I had put it at her seat at the table hoping that she'd ask about it before caving and sticking it on the fridge where she'd have no excuse but to see it. She hadn't. And I didn't go. Suddenly angry I ripped it off of the fridge so the magnet fell and rattled over the tile and ripped the paper into shreds so the cursive written inside shattered into nonsensical sentences. _Your daughter, performing, we'd be honoured if ... _I tossed the pieces into the garbage can and shoved them down so I couldn't see them anymore before stalking back into the hallway, grabbing my shoes and slamming the door shut behind me.

"So ...? What do you think?"I turned to show off the fall and cut of the dress and the spin allowing the folds to spin out around my knees as I did. Not one to usually wear dresses there was something tempting about one tonight and I was allowing myself to mild indulgence. Claire sat up from where she was laying on the bed and the other clothes I had tried on sprawled out underneath her.  
"Very nice. Very ... un-you though," She folded one of the other dresses over her lap and the lace trim of it brushing her fingers.  
"Um ow," I teased and turning back to look in the mirror and tracing the delicate lines of it. It was modest enough though with a little primping it could show a decent enough of cleavage. Though on me I'd have to show the whole breast to be considered someone's decent. Ah self pity.  
"I didn't mean it like that," she insisted and stood up to walk behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist. "I just meant ... it's delicate. And you're strong. So from that perspective ... it's un–you." She rested her head onto my shoulder and I blinked rapidly for a moment to resist the urge to close my eyes and lean my head back against her neck. I might be able to feel her pulse if I did. See if it raced as much as mine was and if I could get it to run faster. There was a knock on the door and I jumped inside Claire's arms and she laughingly pulled back with a quick kiss to my shoulder.  
"Come in," she called and reaching over the chair to pick up the jacket that went with it and pressing it to my arm to make sure it was the right one. The door opened and Sandra poked her head through the opening followed by Mr. Muggles who was supported by her arm. Hairy rat.  
"Oh don't we look nice," she professed and stepping through so she could see me better. I dropped into a curtsey to thank her – much easier in a dress – and she clapped to congratulate my efforts and Mr. Muggles glaring at me since I encouraged the interruption. Oh bite me fur ball I look good.  
"I'm guessing the boy downstairs has nothing to do with the outfit?" She asked and smiling at her little joke –?– and returning her hands to running her fingers through Mr. Muggles fur.  
"He's here?" I asked and running over to the window to pull back the curtain and seeing his Jeep parked in the driveway and the lights inside still on. I grinned to myself and turned back away from the window to take Claire's hand and leading her around Sandra – Mr. Muggles doesn't count – and into the hallway. The carpet creaked under our feet as we made our way down the stairs and Max patiently waiting in the front entry with his hands tucked into his pockets. He grinned when he saw me and I let go of Claire's hand to approach him and standing up on my tip toes to give him a kiss hello. I pulled away before one of us could get carried away and flicked a strand of hair over my shoulder, suddenly feeling shy but not sure why.  
"You look very pretty," he murmured, his lips by my ear and his breath raising goosebumps under my skin.  
"Thanks, you're not too bad yourself," I replied and he grinned, pressing his lips against mine again but this time I let him linger.  
"Hello, Mrs. Bennet," he greeted when I pulled back and raising a hand to greet her where she stood from the top of the stairs.  
"Please call me Sandra," she insisted and lightly stepping down the steps, forcing Claire to walk down first so the two of them wouldn't run into each other.  
"If you insist," he grinned and lacing his fingers through mine at his side. His grip was tighter then Claire's and I tried to wiggle my fingers looser from the grasp but he either ignored it or didn't seem to notice. "So I'll be bringing Jess back here?"  
"Yeah, here would be good," I answered and turning so I faced away from them and not wanting to think about the emptiness of the house and the invitation that I'd ripped up and stuffed in the trash. Denial was a strong character trait I had and I wasn't willing to drop it just yet.  
"Just bring her home by eleven," Sandra filled in and even without looking I could tell that she was smiling.  
"Will do," he reassured her and I finally managed to work my fingers free from his with purple prints worked into my palm. "Oh sorry, babe."  
"Your jacket," Claire reminded me and balling it up to throw it at me but coming untangled in the air so that I caught it by the sleeve. I opened it up to wrap it around my shoulders and Max opened up the door behind me so I spun back through it with my arms tangled and somehow managing to work in a wave goodbye.  
"Oops, sorry sir," Max said behind me and I finished the turn to see Noah walking up the driveway with his brief case in hand and his glasses perched low on his nose.  
"Max," he nodded as he passed before turning to look back at me as I followed. "Jess?"  
"Yeah?" I turned back, finally working my arm successfully through the sleeve and looking like I could pass as half decent company. Of course with me you'd have to show the whole breast to ... no it didn't work in this case.  
"You going out?" He asked, stepping closer and folding his hands politely over the handles. I couldn't tell in the dark but with at least one of his cases Claire and I once filled the linings with stickers and pieces of artwork we'd done so he'd have a surprise when he opened it. He'd come home to find us hiding and giggling and loudly professed that they had stepped up their game with designing their brief cases and that he would have to look into ordering more for his colleagues. I didn't know why I remembered that.  
"This isn't the way in?" I asked in exaggerated panic and even in the dark I could tell he was grinning. It glinted behind his glasses in his eyes.  
"Ha ha very funny. You and Max? You're going on a date?" He nodded to where Max was standing behind me and I looked over my shoulder to check that he was standing at the car door and his fingers frozen on the handle as if debating whether or not he should open it.  
"Yeah just to dinner and a movie. We'll be back by eleven," I promised and tucking one side of the jacket over my front as I felt a cold breeze. The other side was on its own.  
"Alright just ...," he took another step closer and dropped his voice so that only I could see him and the light from upstairs from Claire's window illuminating the frame of his face. "Just ... be careful, okay? Call me if you need to be picked up."  
"I will," I promised and stood up on my tip toes to press my lips to his cheek and feeling the bristles along his jaw. "You need to shave." He laughed and ran his hand over his face and seeing for himself if I was right.  
"It's that time again," he admitted and I started to walk back to the Jeep and the gravel shifting under my shoes. Max took it as the hint that we were in the clear and slid into the driver's seat and resting his hands upon the steering wheel. I walked around to my side and jerked open the door with the self reminder that it stuck.  
"Jess?" Noah called from the front steps and I stopped before climbing in and looked to him and whatever else he had to say. He hesitated for a moment before lifting the hand holding the briefcase to wave and the move triggered the outside light so I could see it was the case we'd decorated and the sentimentality of it making my chest hurt. "I love you." I smiled and made my final move to get into the car.  
"I love you too."

Max ran his fingers up my arm and over the folds of my jacket so they furrowed together and stopped on the lines of my shoulder. I pulled back and slid it down my shoulders so goosebumps ran under my skin before leaning in to kiss him again and tangling my fingers into his shirt. I could feel the lines of his collar bone under the fabric and briefly wondered what would happen if I sank my teeth into it. Would it hurt or would he like it? I'd never really done this before so it was anyone's guess at this point. Or not anyone's just mine. Whoop Dee Dee.  
"You warm enough?" He asked and ran his lips down my neck and pulling the strap of my dress down as he went. The prickles under my skin intensified and I dug my fingers tighter into his collar.  
"Yeah, I'm fine," I assured him and he lightly bit at my shoulder and I visibly shuddered as his tongue soothed the bite. See, this was easy? Nothing complicated just ... kissing and a little biting. We were balancing between human and vampire. I'd prefer werewolf but ... now was not the time to be debating this. He turned his head to lean around to my other shoulder and started to unlace the strings holding shut the bodice. Cold air ran along the insides of my breasts and I loosened my fingers to hold a hand to his chest and push him back.  
"Sorry," he said with a nervous grin and I tightened the strings again to cover it up but just enough showing so he wouldn't think it was a total loss. I smiled so he'd know it was alright before kissing him again and tracing the muscles of his arm. Playing football did have its perks. Brain injury was another one though not as highly recommended. Sarcasm. His hand started to run down my side and to my hip before his fingers crawled over my skirt and lightly pushing it up from the hem. I pushed his fingers away before entwining them through my own and holding them over my ankle. Somewhere significantly safer. He laughed against my lips before pulling his fingers loose and trailing them back up my leg again and underneath the fabric to my thigh. I pushed his hand away more forcibly this time and held it at my knee just where the hem met. He pulled back and glanced over me quickly, his eyebrows creased in confusion.  
"Are you okay?" He asked, his eyes more focused on my chest then my face.  
"Yeah ... just a little too far," I tried to laugh it off but aware that his fingers were again moving up my leg. I kept seeing Noah and the smile on his face when he lifted the brief case and the memory of stuffing the insides with our hard earned collection of heart and Winnie the Pooh stickers. It hadn't been our best work but when you were eight and nine years old supplies came limited.  
"Come on, it's okay," he laughed and kissed me again but harder this time and pressing me back against the door. His shoulder dug into my chest and I shoved him as it started to bruise my lung.  
"No it's kind of not," I held him away from me and my fingers trembling at holding his weight. I glanced at the Dashboard and the numbers 10:45 blue and illuminated over the radio. "We should probably get going it'll take about fifteen minutes to drive back."  
"It's okay it'll be quick," he tried to kiss me again and the muscles of his arms contracted under my grip as I tried to hold him back, wanting to laugh it off but starting to feel uneasy.  
"No ... I don't think so not now," I turned my head away from him but he took it as an invitation and bit into the side of my neck. "Ow. Stop it." He was heavier then he'd been a moment ago or I'd grown weaker and was leaning over me so his knee was between my legs and forcing them apart. "Stop it. Get off. Get off!" I scrambled for the door handle behind me and managed to get it open so the wall that had been supporting me disappeared and I fell back through it and onto the gravel. It dug into my bare legs and back and I scrambled off of it and away from the car, thinking I could just stop at a safe distance and we could talk about this but he was out of the Jeep before I could start and my instincts told me to run.  
"Jess!" He was angry and terror knifed itself into my stomach so I turned to run but he hit me from behind and landed on top of me so he straddled me before forcing me to roll underneath him and between his legs.  
"Stop it!" My breath caught in my throat and I tried to scream but he was heavy and all of his weight was pressed on me as he tried to get my legs apart and fit a hand between them. "Stop it! Please! Get off!"  
"We had a nice time Jess," he forced between his teeth, grunting with the effort of trying to hold me still. "I was nice and you dressed like a whore what did you expect?" He held my legs open and slipped a hand between them and I choked on a sob that made it feel like glass in my chest. "Just stop struggling and it'll be over before you know it." He pressed his knee into my stomach and started to fumble with the buttons of his jeans. Realization hit me like a fist of ice to my stomach and spread to every inch of my body so I felt encased in it like raw adrenaline pounding in my veins.  
"Get off!" I shoved at him as hard as I could and energy burst out of me so hard and fast it stole my breath and sent him up and off of me and back with a crash that shook the ground. I choked and sobbed as the air came back into my lungs and struggled to sit up with my legs cramping and flecks of blood on my thighs from where he had grabbed me too tightly. Every inch of me felt drained and I struggled not to pass out as things came back into focus and froze at what I saw. The Jeep which had been parked several feet away from where he'd stopped me was now on its side with the wheels still spinning and smoke underneath the hood. The side of it was cracked and dented and the glass from one of the windows shattered with spider webs embedded into the surface. Time slowed and I must have stood because then I was walking towards it and the black smears across the ground where it had been hit and shoved. By me. The ... energy whatever it was came from me. I stepped back and the idea of it cut its way through my thoughts and tore each one to shreds to make room for it. No ... I couldn't have. I wasn't – no one was – strong enough ... impossible ... My legs gave way and I sank onto the grass and seized it between my fingers and held onto it like if I could it could rewind and deny the last few minutes. No ... I couldn't have ... there's no way. Max. The name snapped me back to my senses as I heard a groan from the other side of the fallen vehicle and the relief – the horror – that he was still alive. Panic flared inside of me and I forced myself to my feet and half stumbled half ran as fast as I could across the park and choking on sobs that blurred my vision and stabbed knives through my ribs and into my lungs.

My legs gave out from beneath me and I half crawled over the gravel as whatever he had done between my legs made the bruises raw and my ankles trembling so I couldn't stand again and I couldn't see through the tears blurring my eyes. I didn't know where I was. I couldn't stand. I couldn't see and there was a suffocating panic under my skin that I could taste like bile in the back of my throat. _Stop ... please stop it ... dressed like a whore ... what'd you expect ... the energy ... not me ... it couldn't have been me ... _  
"Jess!" He found me. I struggled to my feet but I couldn't stand properly and sagged against a tree with my fingers digging into the bark to hold me upright. He'd found me and he was going to be pissed. I couldn't fight him off this time ... I couldn't even stand. I gasped against another sob and sagged against the tree, unable to do that any longer and no longer as driven as I had been a minute – or an hour – before.  
"Jess! Jessie?" It wasn't him. I ran an arm across my eyes and sniffed so I could see the SUV on the street fifty feet away and the man running across the grass towards me. The glow from one of the street lights illuminated his face and I could see the glint of his horn rimmed glasses from even where I stood. Relief crippled me and I hit the grass hard as he finished the remaining distance between us and pulled me hard into his arms. I buried my face into his shirt and started to sob against him and distantly aware of him brushing his fingers through my hair and trying to soothe me. I clung onto the front of him and aware that I was soaking it but I didn't care. He was here and I was safe and that was all that mattered. _Stop please ... stop ... get off!  
_"What happened?" He pulled away and held my face in his hands as he wiped away my tears and tried to make eye contact with mine. "What happened? What did he do?" His eyes were sad as if he already knew and I couldn't get the words out. I could still feel him, the weight of him, his hands ...  
"Did he ...?" He didn't finish – didn't need to and I painfully nodded so the bile came loose from my throat and I leaned over retching like my insides were on fire.  
"Shhh," he attempted and draped his jacket over my back and tucking the sleeves over my sides as I choked and gasped so my tongue felt like acid and burned inside my mouth. "Shhh. I got you. You're safe." I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth and trembled, the dampness of the blood now crusted and cool on my legs.  
"There was an energy," the words came out bitter and I spat into the grass with the rest of the vomit and hopefully not the promise of more.  
"What?" He righted me so our eyes meet and his own confused in the near dark. "What'd you say?" I swallowed down the taste and the words but it came back up and I saw the Jeep now more clearly and hard over my struggling legs and the darkness of his eyes.  
"When he ... when he tried to ... I pushed him off ... there was an energy," His eyebrows were starting to crease and I wasn't thinking properly enough to think of how it sounded aloud. "It came from me."

My fingers shook as I lifted the mug to my lips and the steam hot on my nose and then my tongue as I took a sip. It burned the inside of my mouth but was better than the vomit so I swallowed and ran my finger along the base and under the handle with the heat of it burning my fingers. _Get off ... please ... get off! _My hands shook so hard the tea spilled over the rim and onto the carpet and I lowered it back onto the table and dapped at the stain with the blanket Noah had given me. I pulled myself back up onto the couch and burrowed deeper inside the sweater I had borrowed from Claire and the wetness of my hair soaking the collar. Noah said that I'd feel better if I showered but I could still feel the weight on my chest and between my legs and wanted to tear at it until my skin was bloody but the memory was gone. The office door rattled open and I looked over my shoulder to see him stepping out from between the glass doors and giving me a calm, sad smile.  
"How're you feeling?" He closed the door behind him and walked around the couch to sit down and join me, the pillows sagging under the weight.  
"Okay. I guess ...," I tucked myself closer into the corner and crushing my hands between my knees so he wouldn't see that they were shaking. "When's Claire getting home?"  
"They said they should be home in about an hour. Stitches took longer to get then they suspected," he put a hand lightly on my foot and ran his thumb back and forth on my toes. This little piggy went to market ... "Now ... about that ..." I raised my eyes to him as he stared down at the carpet where I had spilled and for a moment I thought he was going to ask and call me out on it.  
"About what?" I swallowed hard and I could taste bile again. He looked up at me and shifted so he was facing me and his knees resting on my feet and holding me still. His glasses were low on his nose and I could see his eyes behind them and something in them that I couldn't read. My hands started shaking again.  
"I think it would be best if Claire didn't find out about tonight. Or ... anyone else for that matter. It would be ... in your best interest if you forgot about what happened and try to live your life as normally as possible. Is that clear?" His voice had gone quiet and he said each word slowly like there was significance to each one. The inside of my mouth was burning again and I desperately wanted to reach back over for my tea.  
"I'll take care of it," He answered whatever question I hadn't asked myself first and that kindly smile I'd known him to have so easily returned and the assurance in his eyes that I was safe and that he'd protect me. But it came a moment too late and there was doubt where there should have been comfort.  
"But what about ...?" I didn't know what but I had to ask.  
"I said. I'd take care of it," He said it more firmly and his smile no longer looked right with how uneven it was to his eyes. He held them; waiting for me to say something and I could only nod as whatever he had built up dropped and his smile came more naturally.  
"You must be hungry. Now how about I make you something to eat?" He leaned over and kissed my forehead before climbing up from the couch and around to the kitchen. He started to rummage around through the fridge and cupboards, his voice drowning out as words echoed in my ears and slit up under my skin like tiny blades. _Stop ... get off! Stop ... Please!_

"Ms. Newport?!" I turned at the sound of the voice and Claire's hand slipping from mine and the bandage covering the stitches rough under my fingers. Principal Marks was standing outside his office and disappearing and reappearing as the crowd moved around him. "Can I see you in my office for a minute?" I turned back to Claire who made a move to come with me.  
"I'll be right back," I pulled my bag strap higher on my shoulder and walked along the line of lockers to him and pressing closer when people passed and grazed me as they did. Principal Marks held out an arm to lead me through and I paused as I saw a police officer standing by the desk and his hat off his head and folded between his hands in front of me.  
"Have a seat," he gestured to a chair and the door closed behind me and drowning out the noise of the hall. I suddenly wished I had taken Claire up on her offer but nonetheless walked over to the chair and uneasily sat – wincing as I did. This wasn't my first time in the Principals office. It was a new one for having a police officer though and coupled with last night it ran cold down my spine. Principal Marks walked around the desk before sitting in his own chair. I felt the sudden urge to demand my rights read.  
"Ms. Newport we've had one of our students go missing – a Mr. Maxwell Wilcox and we were wondering if you had any idea where he might be?" He clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward with what he most likely assumed was a non threatening gesture. My vision tunneled for a moment and I felt that coldness turn hot.  
"Why would where he might be?" I licked the dryness of my lips and repeating Noah's words in my head. _It would be best if no one knew what happened. I'll take care of it. _I had to trust that. Trust him.  
"Well you are dating him, aren't you?" He glanced up at the officer as if he were more qualified to know. The officer didn't answer and instead stared down at me with a less then trusting eyes. Sure I had a reputation but it wasn't _that _bad.  
"I am," I bit down on the last word. Was. Past tense. Not anymore. Not after last night.  
"Well I have a witness from his sister who says that you two were on a date last night? A Ms. Jackie Wilcox?" His brow furrowed on the name and I barely nodded to show that he'd been correct.  
"Yeah we had a date. He was fine though," I shrugged like it didn't mean anything but I could still feel the weight. Still hear my screams.  
"And when did that happen?" He pulled a sheet of paper out and a pen like he was going to take notes.  
"Before eleven?" I tried to phrase it as a statement but it came out as a question. I cleared my throat to cover it and brushed back a strand of hair. "My curfew is eleven so it must have been before then." They could tell that I was lying. They had to. I was good but not that good. Principal Marks raised his eyes to the officer but neither of them said anything so the glance must have been enough.  
"Have you seen this man before?" The officer finally spoke and tossed a picture down on the desk that he had apparently been hiding behind his hat. Rabbits were overrated anyway. I leaned over the desk to see it and tried not to wince as I did. It was a blurred photo of a tall, bald man with dark skin and a yellow jacket that ended just below his waist. He was looking over his shoulder at something and in the background I could see something large and fallen to the side. The Jeep. I tightened my fingers into the armrest of the chair and resisted the urge to throw it and run hysterically from the room.  
"No. Why?" I glanced up at the officer and waited for him to answer for me. Obviously not impressed he took back the picture and held it back behind his cap.  
"He was the last person to be seen with Maxwell before he disappeared," Principal Marks answered and dismayed but kinder then the officer that I hadn't known. "We were wondering if you knew him or had any idea why Maxwell would go with him?" He stared at me expectantly and I forced myself to meet and hold his gaze. Guilty people couldn't make eye contact. That's one of the tricks of how you knew someone was lying. I had nothing to hide. I'd done nothing wrong. But even thinking if felt off and I could feel it weighted down with the rest of me feeling too light.  
"No. I have no idea," I blinked to drop the gaze and he sighed, convinced enough that I was innocent or at the very least he had no other reason to hold me. The bell rang for the start of class and the sound of students rushing to beat it rushed from behind the door.  
"Thank you. That'll be all Ms. Newport," he nodded for me to leave and I stood up for the door with the officer beating me to it and holding it open. I walked past him and out into the hallway where Claire was waiting for me and moving away from beside the fountain where she'd be standing.  
"If you think of anything that might be of help, please don't hesitate to call," the officer informed me and reached into his pocket and pulling out a card that he held out for me to take.  
"I know the number," I told him simply and his eyes narrowed as he continued holding it before slipping it back into his pocket and walking away and into the crowd. People passing by glanced at him as he left before looking over to me and most likely wondering what I'd done this time. I tried to smile at Claire who looked worried and led her through the flow in the direction of the science hall.  
"You okay? What happened?" We stepped out into the sun to cross the quad and a breeze picked up the pulled at the strings of the jacket I hadn't taken off in hopes it would cover the bite mark on my shoulder.  
"Yeah, everything's ...," I froze or everything else did and I alone kept moving. Across the parking lot was a man – the man from the photograph standing silent and watching me. My heart beat slowed as his eyes met mine and a heavy silence seemed to press down on my ears and suffocate me. I could hear screaming – my screaming in my chest and in my head and the weight of him gone and the dent along the side of the Jeep. The same that he had been standing beside and no one had made a mention of being destroyed.  
"Jess?" Everything snapped back into focus and I turned to look at Claire who was watching me in growing concern and a hand reached out to touch my shoulder. Without even meaning to I moved back. "Jess, are you alright?" I looked back to where the man stood and only found an empty spot where he had been. It felt too hot all of a sudden and I couldn't breathe inside my skin.  
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," the lie came more easily than I thought it would and I forced a smile as she took my hand again and led me across the crowded Quad to the other hall.

"Probably cut him up into little pieces and sacrificed him to the Devil or some shit. Wouldn't be surprised she seems like the type to go murderous bitch. No wonder did you hear about her dad? Probably killed himself to spare the shame and now we know why. Devious little slut ..." I ducked my face behind my hair as people glanced at me passing and made no real effort to hide what they said. It started after lunch when word of my meeting with the police officer spread and soon everyone had an opinion of what I did and why. It was almost funny if you counted out the fact that none of it was true and that even if it was it wasn't in character. I pulled my bag higher over my shoulder and turned to avoid a group of cheerleaders but one of them slammed into me and I hit the floor hard so the contents of my bag spilled out and papers scattered over the tile.  
"Watch where you're going bitch!" She called after me as the others laughed and I started to scrape the papers together in some sort of order to put them back in my binder. Not like I paid much attention anyway.  
"Here let me help," Someone knelt in front of me and I looked up into the eyes of a guy about my age with headphones around his neck. Zeke or Zach or something. He stretched to gather up the papers I couldn't reach and shuffling them back together and into my bag.  
"Ignore those girls they're bitches," He tried to comfort me but I didn't hear it properly and only the whispers of those still around us and not one of them bothering to help.  
"Looks like she's got another victim. Gotta go after the gays now. Watch out or she'll kill you too."  
"Thanks," I swung my bag back over my shoulder and hearing it clink against the lockers as I misjudged the weight behind it.  
"I'm Zach," he held out a hand to me as we stood and I raised my eyes to his face and finding something unnaturally kind and out of place about it. Max had a nice face. Max had kind eyes.  
"Like I care," I shoved past him and down the hall as more people laughed and whispered after me and the weight of them like rocks on my back.  
"Jess! Dad's here," Claire ran up and slid her arm through mine as a group of boys younger then use shied away when we got too close and making a bigger deal out of it then necessary. She led me out into the parking lot where the SUV was parked and Lyle already in the front seat.  
"What took you so long?" He whined as Claire pulled open the side door and climbed in first.  
"I was gone five minutes," Claire told me and tousled his hair which made him whine louder and messing it back to the "right amount." I stepped in after her and slammed the door shut behind me, one or two people slowly passing and at a distance trying to get a glimpse at me.  
"How was your day girls?" Noah asked from the driver's seat and I paused to meet his eyes in the rear view mirror and his glass glinting off the light from the frame. He smiled at me when he saw me looking but it didn't reach his eyes and I felt the last 24 hours hit me in a rush. _Be careful, get off, stop, that was me, an energy, no one should know, do you know this man, I'll take care of it ...  
_"Good," It came out before I could think worse of it and added a smile that was halfway convincing to go along with it. "It was good." Mr. Bennet grinned and nodded as if congratulating me on the lie.  
"That's good. Now ... who wants take out?" He started to start the car and Lyle enthusiastically cried his approval and even Claire seemed excited. I turned in my seat to pull on my seat belt and distantly through the parking lot thought I could see the man again. Silent. Staring. Watching. But when I blinked he was gone and it was different words I could hear in my head and not the list of restaurants that Mr. Bennet was suggesting.  
_I'll take care of it, I'll take care of it, I'll take care of it._


	11. 111 Fallout

The door closed behind me and I burrowed my arms deeper into Mr. Bennet's jacket and trying to feel comforted by the weight. It wasn't though. The scene felt too familiar and it made me feel sick to draw the comparison. A light switched on and the shadows of the kitchen became more poignant as Claire eased her arm more comfortably through mine and her fingers tracing the outline of the pocket. She hadn't let go of me since she told him and I wasn't going to tell her to stop.  
"Are you mad at us?" She asked suddenly, turning to look over her shoulder and re-linking her arm to face him. I stood facing the other direction and scanned over the details of the kitchen and the living room through the doorway. Everything looked ... different somehow. Less friendly and welcoming like a series of police tape over everything telling me that I was not wanted. Stupid furniture.  
"... Just thinking," Mr. Bennet was saying and I turned around to face him where his hand was outstretched with a damp towel held out to me. I stared at it for a moment, wondering what it was for before Claire took it and started to gently wipe at my face and neck. Oh right ... the blood.  
"I um ... I have something I have to tell you. Both of you," he walked over to the fridge and open it before pulling out a jug and setting it on the counter. Claire pulled back the collar of the jacket and started to wipe at my shoulders where my sleeve had fallen down. I half expected to see the bite mark still there but that was stupid. It had healed months ago.  
"It's not fair to keep it from you two any longer," he walked back over and set two glasses of juice in front of us while nudging one closer to me. I didn't take it. "What you two can do ... I've known about it. I knew before either of you knew. Before Claire made those tapes with Zach." Claire's ministrations stopped and I slowly lifted my eyes to meet his, his expression solemn from behind his glasses.  
"You saw the tape?" She whispered with the cloth still pressed to my neck and the tepid water dripping down my collar and between my breasts. He nodded and lowered his eyes, playing his fingers over the counter top. "Why didn't you say anything?"  
"There are a lot of reasons. But mostly I just wanted to protect you. Both of you," he raised his eyes to look at me and I could hear his words ringing in my ears: _I'll take care of it. I'll take care of it ...  
_"Protect us?" She demanded, hand dropping and breathless as she took it in. "All this time ... everything we went through?" She turned to look at me, waiting for me to back her up and express my own outrage but I couldn't. I was numb.  
"I worked very hard," he leaned closer to us and his voice lowered as if expecting the volume to make an impact or nervous that someone else would hear. "I've done some things that I'm not proud of to keep you two safe."  
"What kinds of things?" I found my voice for the question but I almost didn't want to know the answer. His eyes flicked over to me and I felt the weight of the gaze with everything he didn't say aloud.  
"I just wanted you girls to have a normal life," he turned his back to us and put the jug of juice back in the fridge and resting his hands on the door for a moment after it closed. I could see his distorted reflection in the metal and I watched it for any hint that would give him away but I didn't see any and couldn't even feel defeated at the loss.

"And Jackie?" Claire's voice trembled and I reached for her hand, clutching the fingers and hearing the whisper choked with blood: _run. _"He was after Jess?"  
"He's taken care of," he insisted and turning back to face us and the light glinting off the rim of his glasses. "I promise you." Unsurprisingly I didn't believe him.  
"You and mom knew all this time?" Claire asked, disbelieving and her heart breaking at the betrayal.  
"Your mother doesn't know," he reassured her. "Neither does your brother."  
"Actually, Lyle kind of found out," Claire admitted and taking the glass from the counter and taking a tentative sip.  
"Really?" He asked looking to her and her head bowed so she didn't see the sharpened panic. "Did anybody else?"  
"Just Zach," she shrugged, setting the glass back down and wiping her mouth with her fingers.  
"Does anyone know about you?" He turned his gaze to me and I met it but not really sure what I saw when I did or in comparison he saw from me. I slowly shook my head and the move of it exhausting. _I'll take care of it ...  
_"Nobody else can know," he leaned over the counter closer to us and his shadow barely touching the edge closest to us. "It's the only way to keep the two of you safe. That man who tried to kill Jess ..." He looked to me and I stared numbly back. "... There are others out there like him. Who want what you both have and will hurt either of you to get it. That's why we can't tell anyone. Do you understand?" A tear rolled down Claire's cheek and I lamented that I wasn't quick enough to catch it. She nodded and he took it as a confirmation from us both.  
"I'm going to pick Lyle up from practice and I'll talk to him," he straightened and just like six months before the heaviness from his voice was gone and it was like it was never there. "You two talk to Zach. Jess, you can stay here tonight and I'll call your mom to let her know you're safe." I slowly nodded to show that I understood but silently wanting to tell him not to bother. That she wouldn't be there to answer.

The water ran down the curve of my back and between my breasts and I could taste the faint metallic from the blood as it did. I let it dribble from between my lips before I spit and ran my hands back through my hair to push it back from my face. The steam had clouded the taps so I couldn't see myself in the stainless steel but even so I wasn't tempted to clear it off. I pulled a strand over my shoulder and ran my fingers back and forth over it and working out the blood that fell in damp flecks to stain the tile beneath my feet pink. I could hear her voice still. Her screams, the metal crunching as she struggled against it and the screeching as her forehead cut open. I could see the blood dripping down her cheeks and the look in the man's eyes when he saw me and the energy that broke my fall. I could hear her telling me to run and my sobs through the hallway as I did and his see his shadow as he followed. I turned the taps so the water turned off and lingered with my fingers on them as the water swirled down the drain and with it the murkiness of the blood that had faded and gone pink. It continued to drip and with it a sound that followed almost like the ticking of a clock counting down. _Tick, tick, tick ... _A painful gasp broke in my chest and I swallowed it down and choked as I leaned my head against the tile and started to cry, my insides hurting and the blood still swirling as the clock ticked and getting quieter and quieter with each one. _Tick, tick, tick ..._

I quietly opened and then closed the door behind me, the lock of it clicking and loud in the silence of the hall. I peeled off my shoes and carefully laid them at the rack before noticing a pair I didn't recognize beside them.  
"Jessie?" I looked over my shoulder to see my mom behind me still in her work uniform and the fabric in it wrinkled like she had slept in it and the tangles of her hair giving evidence to the theory. "Oh Jessie." She was across the room in less than five steps and she was in my arms and holding me so I felt crushed against her chest. She buried her face in my hair and I stiffly let her as I tried to let it sink in that she was here and holding me but the details of it getting lost along the way so even then it still felt unnatural. She pulled away and held me at an arm's length, kneeling so she had to look up at me and wiping a strand of hair away from my face.  
"The police called and said that there had been an attack at the school and that there was a victim Jackie Wilcox and that you'd been ...," she trailed off as she brushed her fingers over my temple and the bruise that was purpling above my eye. "Mr. Bennet called to say you were safe but ... but I knew you two were close ..." She tried to smile but it trembled and fell empty with the tears in her eyes. I stared at her and searching, wondering why this woman was talking to me like a mother when it was Sandra who had made my breakfast this morning and sent me on my way with a kiss to my cheek. That's what mothers were supposed to do, right? Kept you happy and healthy and remember the details about you like you liked cinnamon on your toast and that you had hated a girl named Jackie and that you two were never close.  
"Yeah, I'm fine," I brushed past her where she was still kneeling and over to the fridge that I knew would be empty before I opened it. I wrestled my bag over my shoulder anyway and took out the tubberware of leftovers Sandra had given me and sliding it onto the fifth shelf next to the eggs which appeared to have been there since the last time I had commented.  
"The police assured me that you were but I ... I was so worried," she was standing again and playing with her fingers as if not sure what to do with them or leave them alone and hanging at her sides. "I knew you'd be alright with the Bennets but I hoped that you would come home." I didn't look at her, running my fingers over the handle of the fridge and to where the lady bug had eventually found its way back on the door. The wing had broken off and leaving the edge of it jagged and chipped.  
"I know I said that I would be around more and I didn't follow through on that," she continued and sounding uncertain if I was listening or if the echo was the only one that heard. "And that's my fault. I fell back on old patterns and I shouldn't have and I'm sorry that I put you back on that but ... I'm trying. I really am and I need ... I want ... I want to be there for you. With this or anything else and I want you to know that. Because you deserve that you deserve better than that. And I want to give it to you." She finally finished and waited for my response and I could feel the seconds tick as I didn't give it. I ran my fingers over the lady bug's vacant wing and felt the edge tease at my skin and threatening to cut it.  
"Jess? Jess, sweetie did you hear me?" Her voice came out on a pleading note and some part of me deep down begged me to turn around and face her but it was drowned out by the rest of me demanding that I let her suffer.  
"Yeah I heard you," I cleared my throat as my voice came out cracked before licking over my dried lips where I could still taste the metallic taste of blood that I wasn't sure had been mine or Jackie's. "I heard you the first time. And the time before that and the time before that and ever since dad died." I slowly turned to look at her and eight years worth of anger coming up from where I'd buried it and more hate then hurt. "And I believed it. Every time I believed it that maybe something would change and that you would be willing to be my mom again. What makes this time so different? Does it take me nearly dying for that to change or is it going to be like every other time?" My voice rose and grew harder and I could visibly see the colour draining from her face, her lips beginning to tremble. "Because if I knew that was all it took then maybe I would have let them kill me like dad!"  
"How dare you?" Her voice was barely a whisper but I heard it like she screamed it and felt nothing as she did. "You were not the only one who lost him, you are not the only one who's grieving ..."  
"You weren't there!" I didn't know which time I meant but it didn't matter and she knew it. "You were never there! How could you possibly think that I was the only one who was grieving when you weren't there to even ask?"  
"I've been trying to keep this family together," her voice shook and a tear rolled down her cheek that she angrily wiped away. "I didn't do it in the correct way but I have tried ..."  
"How?" I was half laughing now and not sure if it was grief or anger or if I was going insane and this was the time it decided to show. "How can you keep this family together when there is no family left? Even before he died we weren't a family. How could you think we were?"  
"Stop it," She took a step back and I saw the effort that it took for her to do it.  
"Don't deny it you know why you're angry," I walked around the counter and closer to her so I could see the tears that were still in her eyes and the wrinkles that creased their edges. "You know why you're hurt."  
"Stop," her lips barely moved and another tear ran down the crease of her nose but she didn't bother to catch it.  
"Because when he left ... when he ran he took me. Not you," The room went deathly quiet as I said it but pulsed with the weight of the words after I did. She stared at me with her eyes searching and I could see the age in them that I had always shied away from thinking of myself having. The minutes ticked as we waited for the other to say something – to laugh and say it was all a joke or retreating back to our safe distances where the lying was so much more comforting then the truth was said aloud. It didn't come though. Neither of us took it. Realizing this I accepted the success – or defeat – and walked back over to the door to get my shoes and opening and then closing it behind me with finality to the click.

I ran the nail on my thumb back and forth on my palm and tracing the lines that were embedded into my skin. I had a friend once who told me that she could read palms before telling me that I had a long life line and pointing it out on my hand. I couldn't remember each one though. And it was stupid to think that a line could deny or encourage whether a life was long or not.  
"And?" The officer encouraged, her hands folded over the glass of the table with her thumbs tapping out the seconds she waited.  
"And he killed her," I shifted in my chair and repeated the words over in my head that Mr. Bennet had made me rehearse before we came in. Not enough that it sounded like I prepared but enough that I wouldn't forget and slip up. "I tried to help but she told me to run so I ..." I could see the blood dripping down her cheeks, the gash in her forehead and the unnatural cut and shape of it as her lips parted and the blood bubbled and she choked out that one word – the last word she would ever say. " ... So I ran." Mr. Bennet reached over the space between us and slid his hand into mine so his fingers could close around my wrist. I watched him as he did it, letting it sink in after he did and willing myself not to pull away.  
"I'm sorry Jessica. I know you've been through a lot but I just have a few more questions," she assured me, glancing quickly at the two way mirror that divided up the far wall and then the questions she had written down. "Did this man exhibit anything out of the ordinary?" My mouth went dry and I swallowed with difficulty as I let Mr. Bennets hand tighten and the unspoken word behind the gesture: Lie.  
"Besides killing Jackie?" I asked, the abrasiveness of my personality coming out and comforting me that it was still there somewhere buried underneath everything else. She glanced at the mirror again and I followed it to see my reflection staring back at me with the bruise still visible and like a trophy of my survival hidden beneath my hair.  
"No, like being able to fall five stories and walk away without a scratch," She cleared her throat and tilted her head as she waited for me to reaction.  
"Um ... no," I tried to sound disbelieving but was hearing the screeching in my head of Jackie's head splitting open and the way she screamed as it did and the blood poured down.  
"Well, you said Peter Petrelli tackled the man who killed Jackie and that they both fell over the ledge. That's a pretty long fall," she repeated my words back to me and like she was trying to trip me up and get me to confess without even knowing what for. I almost didn't hear it though and wouldn't have care if I did.  
"Peter? Is he okay?" I straightened up in my seat and Mr. Bennets hand briefly loosening from my grip before he held onto it again just as tight.  
"He survived. Without a scratch," she assured me and the weight from my shoulders lifted and I sank back into the seat. "How do you think he did that?" I didn't know how it worked.  
"All I know is that he saved my life," I insisted, innocent and unassuming. I could see Mr. Bennet faintly smiling from the corner of my eye, proud that I was playing the part so well.  
"There was some damage done to the girl's locker room where Jackie's body was found," she continued, taking a different track as I didn't take her where she wanted. "A heavy dent in the concrete that we're still puzzling out how it was made. Do you have any idea about that?"  
"School's pretty old," I shrugged, meeting and holding her gaze so she could see the sarcasm but not the lie. "Breathe too heavy in one of the rooms and a whole wall will come down." Her eyes narrowed at the joke and I scratched at the surface under the table, waiting for her to crack or look away first.  
"Do you have what you need, Agent Hanson?" Mr. Bennet asked, his authority raised from the hardness of his voice and his role as my "guardian." She looked back to the mirror, more pointedly then the last time before silently admitting defeat and nodding that we could go.

Claire stood up from the chair she was waiting in as the interview room door closed behind us and wordlessly walked over to hug me and tangling her fingers into my hair. I hugged her back, burying my face in her shoulder for a moment before reluctantly letting go and taking comfort from the questioning smile on her lips.  
"Everything go alright?" She asked, dropping her hand to rest beside mine and entangling my fingers through her own.  
"Not my first police interview," I shrugged and her smile widened slightly at the nonchalance of my answer.  
"Excuse me?" A voice called from down the hall and we looked up to see a middle aged man approaching with dark hair and a kind looking face. "Mr. Bennet?"  
"Yes?" Mr. Bennet turned to face him and in doing so stepping slightly in front of where Claire and I stood.  
"Mr. Bennet, I just want you to know that we're doing everything in our power to catch this man," he assured him and uneasy from the way he stood and his fingers played with the bottom of his jacket.  
"Well, I appreciate that Mr...," Mr. Bennet trailed off, taken back by the promise.  
"Uh, Parkman," he introduced and holding out his hand for Mr. Bennet to shake. "Uh, officer Matt Parkman."  
"I really appreciate that Officer Parkman," Mr. Bennet thanked, shaking his hand before letting it drop to his side again and almost resting at my hip. "Thank you." Mr. Parkman nodded, glancing at me before doing a double take and his eyes narrowing as if he recognized me from somewhere but couldn't quite place where. Mr. Bennet didn't give him the chance to figure it out however, a hand at my back to move me forward that I followed and Claire trailing beside me with her fingers still clasped with mine.

The guard led us down the crowded hall and I tangled my fingers inside my pockets and working up a hundred different things to say with each one sounding pathetic even as I thought them.  
"Are you sure about this?" Mr. Bennet asked and taking note of my unease. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak and took a deep breath as the guard stopped at a door by the end of the hall and started fiddling with his keys. The door opened and he stepped back so I could pass him and Peter becoming visible from where he sat on a cot with blood still matted to his shirt and in his hair. He quickly stood up when he saw me and I felt my thoughts shifting as if through a grater and becoming dust between my fingers.  
"You're okay," he breathed with a half laugh and I smiled back so that he'd know I was.  
"Mr. Petrelli, I'm Jessica's guardian," Mr. Bennet introduced and stepping out from behind me to hold out his hand and Claire uncertainly standing by the door.  
"Hi," Peter took his hand to shake it but keeping his eyes on me as he did.  
"You saved my girl," Mr. Bennet said, moving back and resting his hand on my shoulder. "I owe you my life."  
"I was just in the right place," he assured him, still looking at me and his smile crooked on one side.  
"Hey, is it okay if I talk to Peter alone for a minute?" I asked suddenly, turning to Mr. Bennet and resting my hand on his sleeve in the first sign of voluntary affection that I'd given him in months. He noticed it as well and looked down at my fingers for a moment in question before slowly nodding and turning back to the door. The guard let him out and Claire stepped back as the door closed behind him and leaving the two of us alone.  
"Would you like a seat?" He asked, gesturing to the cot and aware even as he said it how poor the suggestion was.  
"How did you do it?" I asked, bypassing the offer and wondering as I said it if I should have taken it first. I sat down on the edge of the mattress to remedy it but ended up feeling more awkward then accommodating.  
"Do what?" He asked, sitting down beside me and his fingers clutching the side and almost touching my hip.  
"Heal," I shifted so my knee touched his and my skin tingling when I did.  
"It's ... kind of new for me," he admitted, looking almost bashful and up close his skin looking even paler underneath the blood. "It seems like when I'm around someone ... I can do what they do."  
"Claire," I murmured, remembering how she ran into him and how it reminded me of her when his limps snapped back and his skin stitched back together. He was alive because of Claire.  
"What?" He asked, forehead furrowed and leaning closer like her name was a secret that I wanted to confess.  
"You're like me," I acknowledged, almost saying like us but wanting to file the moment down to just me and him for however long it might last.  
"Like you? You can ...?" His eyes widened in understanding. "You can ... heal too?"  
"No," I brushed back my hair to show off the bruise I'd gotten in proof that I wasn't the same. That I could hurt as much as anyone else. "I can kind of ... go invisible and stuff." I tried not to think of the Jeep right then but that in itself was thinking about it and didn't fade when I tried to stop.  
"That's pretty cool," he acknowledged and his lips spreading into a breathless grin. I shrugged like it wasn't but for the first time in my life letting it fully sinking in and seeing it as it was. I could turn invisible and manipulate energy. That actually was kind of cool. Go me.  
"What else can you do?" I asked, raising my eyes to his and uncertain what I would see looking back and a desire unsettled in my skin to see it anyways. His eyes were even darker up close but there was a kindness to them that I wasn't used to seeing and had convinced myself always hid something darker underneath. Not with him though. With him it seemed ... bottomless. Ugh, two meetings with this guy and I was a poet.  
"Not very much," he admitted with a shrug, his arms balanced over his knees with his fingers together. "I've kind of flown before though."  
"You've flown?" Even from what I'd learned this seemed to be stretching it and I was half convinced not to believe him.  
"Yeah," he grinned, recognizing how impossible it sounded as I did. "Maybe I'll take you some time."  
"I'd like that," I said quietly and all once feeling shy like I'd confessed something I shouldn't have and couldn't take back the honesty. If that was the case he didn't acknowledge it and instead reached for my temple to brush back my hair and his fingers lingering over the bruise that was still tender to the touch. A loud knocking echoed on the glass and I jumped so his hand slipped and I turned to see Mr. Bennet standing outside the door expectant that it was time to leave. Panic cut up my insides and I was aware of a million things I wanted to ask him and not even sure which one to lead with if I even had the time.  
"Look's like your dad's ready to leave," Peter noticed and nodding at where he stood.  
"He's not my dad," I corrected and less defensive then I would have been if it had been someone else.  
"Sorry," he murmured and before I could think better of it I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his cheek. He tasted of sweat and blood and underneath it the faint scruff of a beard that I could still feel even as I pulled away.  
"It's okay," I reassured him and he stared back at me, eyes searching and curious as if waiting for me to put a name to what I just did.  
"What was that for?" He asked, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.  
"For saving my life," I answered and stood up, Mr. Bennet rapping at the glass again and this time more insistent. I walked over to the door that guard unlocked from the other side and turned back to look at him one last time and using the chance to commit him to memory.  
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Peter," I said as the door opened and I walked through it, having lied to myself a moment ago and stealing one more look back.

I pulled open the front door with flourish and was taken aback when seeing it was Zach on the other side.  
"What are you doing here?" I asked as a way of hello, his headphones at their customary place around his neck and a Tupperware resting on his arm.  
"Hello to you too," he grinned, something almost like affection in the way he dryly said it. That or I was still a little lovestruck and seeing it everywhere I went.  
"Sorry," I conceded and leaning back against the frame. "Hello. How are you? You look well." He laughed and shifted his bag over his shoulder with his unoccupied arm.  
"What are you doing here?" I repeated but this time more kindly and more appropriate considering the progression we'd made in the conversation.  
"I went to your house but your mom said you weren't here so I thought I'd drop by and see how you were," he shrugged like it didn't mean anything and I felt an ironic jolt that now of all times my mom was home. "About Jackie."  
"Oh right," I tucked my hair back from my face and remembering what'd I'd manage to bury for a couple of hours at least. He sucked his breath audibly and reached out to touch the bruise.  
"It's nothing," I insisted and brushing my hair back to cover it. I thought of the searing of her skin and the blood as an alternative and cleared my throat to change the subject.  
"What do you have there?" I nodded at the tubberware that he just seemed to notice and less startled then I would have been at the discovery.  
"Cupcakes," he announced and pulling back the lid to reveal a half dozen decorated chocolate cupcakes inside with more skill then I would have done and less carnage then I would have ended up with. "Kind of a ... glad you didn't die celebration with food."  
"You had me at food," I assured him and stepped back to let him in and welcoming him to share in my feast – depending on how good they turned out to be.

I closed the door as quietly as I could behind me and waited for a moment to hear if the sound of it would garner any reaction. It was quiet. And thus for the moment safe. I exhaled and dodged around the table to the stairs with each one creaking underneath me as I went. It made sneaking around tricky but I didn't feel myself if I didn't have an acknowledgement of each step. Sarcasm. I stopped on the landing and waited for anything from behind mom's door but just like downstairs it was silent. My shoulders sagged and I was torn between relief and disappointment. I knew it wouldn't last. I nudged open my door and tossed my bag up on my bed. If I was lucky I'd be able to grab my stuff before mom got back and like I was never here. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and typed a quick: _Zach? _Before tossing it onto my bed and going over to my dresser. Wasn't like him to take so long to reply to a text but I guess we all had our moments. I tossed through my top drawer and pulling out anything I could find that could get me through the next week or so without having to come back. Wearing Claire's clothes was nice and all but there were some areas where we missed or made up on the other *cough* chest *cough* which made a consistent wardrobe change tricky. My phone buzzed and I walked back over to dump my clothes on top of my bag before picking up it and Claire's number flashed on the screen. Something else distorted over it and I squinted to see it was a reflection and turned in sudden panic to see the man standing behind me and with less than an inch in distance between us. I scrambled away from him as fast as I could but his arms were around me before I made it halfway to the door and I screamed.  
"Mom!" His hand clapped over my mouth and I struggled as hard as I could, willing the energy –or adrenaline or whatever you want to call it – into action but it was like hitting a blank wall when I tried and that panicked me more than anything. The door slammed shut as I kicked at it and he dragged me back into the room with my teeth biting at his hand and clawing at his arms.  
"I'm not here to hurt you," he said and his voice calm and out of place when his hand was still covering my mouth and my heart was suffocating in my chest. I dug my nails into his hand and dragged them as hard as I could to break the skin but he didn't even flinch. "I work with Mr. Bennet." I kicked back at his legs behind me but missed and hit the metal frame of my bed.  
"I was sent here to make you forget. Like he sent me to Claire." My struggle faltered and my heart rated stilled as I took in Claire's name and it alone causing me to stop. He took note that he had my attention and cautiously loosened his grip. I shoved myself away from him as hard as I could and stumbled to fall on the floorboards and not even noticing the impact as I hit. He slowly knelt to my level and to maintain eye contact, the silence around him that I had noticed so many times there again and making his presence calm and unnatural.  
"Who are you?" I asked, forcing the words out and my fingers scrambled at the boards for anything within reach that I could use if need be for a weapon. It was one of the times when chaos was a blessing and I managed to grip a metal protractor that I had used before I had given up on math.  
"I wouldn't use that if I were you," he said simply, noticing me holding it without for a second taking his eyes off of his face. "I came here to talk but I have other measures if need be." I swallowed down the panic in my throat and thought of the picture of him standing next to the Jeep with the disappearance of it and Max that followed.  
"You said you came here to make me forget. Why?" I continued to hold the protractor between my fingers but made no threatening move to use it as a just in case measure.  
"For your safety and for your comfort," he said, still kneeling in front of me but no indication that he found it uncomfortable as I would have. "There are things that you know that are dangerous and that have caused you a great deal of pain. But it is important that you know them. They make you stronger and in time may be necessary for what you must do."  
"What I must do?" My throat had gone dry and I tried to swallow but the weight of the question got caught.  
"We all have a purpose," he said, still infuriatingly calm and still. "Like mine was to remove all evidence that you where with the boy and forget that night all together." My blood ran cold.  
"Max," I whispered and even now feeling panicked that he might hear and find me and that he'd be angrier if he did. He nodded.  
"Yes. Mr. Bennet wanted you to forget for your comfort but I knew you had to remember. As now you have to remember," he leaned closer somewhat and my grip tightened on my "weapon."  
"Jess?" He asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can you keep a secret?"


	12. 112 Godsend

"What else did he say?" Claire asked, the breeze ruffling her hair and throwing the curls against the peeling paint of the rail. I pulled my leg up from where it draped over the edge and hugged it to my chest.  
"Just that I had to lie. Pretend that I forgot and that everything was normal," I swept back my own hair but less gracefully then she did and my own curls more tangled in the effort. I turned and looked past to the other side of the rails and the dying and dry hills that stretched farther than I could see. There was something forlorn about the thought though I probably would have thought the same thing if we were sitting at Disney World at something.  
"Yeah. He told me the same," she lowered her eyes and scratched her nail along the edge of my shoe with the fading letters of our names marked on. She traced her finger along the J before lingering over the e and re-marking it to memory. Every pair of shoes I'd owned since I was eight had our names written on them. Mom used to say that it was a waste of a good shoe to ruin them but then she stopped noticing and I stopped caring that she did. Or at least that's what I told myself.  
"Did he hurt you?" I tried digging a nail out of the metal but reconsidered it after the possibility that it might be the one piece keeping the refinery from crashing underneath us. Sure Claire could heal if it did and if I reacted quick enough I could cushion the fall but it would suck all the same.  
"No," she pressed her thumb to the first s in my name and continued tracing to the end and back. "Just ... scared me that's all." I raised my eyes to look at her and the curls that still blew over her forehead and face. She'd been quieter since the man came. Sadder. And if nothing else I hated him for that.  
"I'd have killed him if he hurt you," A dusted breeze came by as I said them and dried the words to my lips but she heard them anyway and lifted her head. She smiled faintly and for a second they touched her eyes and made them warm. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to my cheek which no doubt was coated in dust from the wind but she made no indication either way if it was. She pulled back to rest her forehead against mine and I closed my eyes so I could listen to her breathing and the way the world vanished underneath the sound of it.

"Union Wells High School opens its doors today for the first time since 16 – year old Jackie Wilcox was brutally murdered during a homecoming game two weeks ago ...," the TV reporter with the bad pant suit was saying with the school in the background behind her to illustrate her point. Kids milled around behind her in groups and alone with one or two of them dodging to the side to get in the camera and waving eagerly to whoever might be watching. Which for some reason included me and Claire.

"Thank you, Angela," another reporter said from off-screen before it switched back to the studio where a panel of anchors gave half-hearted condolences.  
"It's like a circus," Claire commented quietly and switching off the TV so our reflection stared back at us.  
"You girls don't have to worry about the press," Mr. Bennet reassured, standing behind and to the left of us and the sizzling of something in the pan as a hint that he was cooking. "They're not allowed on school grounds."  
"It's not the press I'm worried about," I mumbled and started to shove the binders and text books I'd stacked up into my bag and wondering why I bothered with so many. They didn't do much – except the future promise of back problems that I wasn't looking forward to.  
"You girls want me to pick you up from school?" He asked, thankfully not hearing and scrapping what was ever in the pan onto a plate and bringing it over to the two of us. He slid it over to rest in front of Claire and I could see that it was a grilled cheese sandwich. Ah ... mystery solved.  
"Nah, I think we're going to walk," Claire answered and splitting the sandwich in half so that I could have a piece. "There hasn't been any cheerleading practice since the murder and I think we've been slumming it a bit." I swung my back over my shoulder and took the piece she offered with my teeth to hold it there as I readjusted the straps.  
"Sounds like a good idea," he congratulated, obviously brightening from how well we were adjusting. "Good to get back into the swing of things." Yeah, God forbid our lives stop because of an attempted murder. I thought back to the blood on her lips and the murmured "run" and took the sandwich down from my teeth, losing all sense of appetite.  
"It's weird though. Going back to school," I said, wiping the crumbs from my lips and my stomach turning. "After what happened ..." I was digging and I shouldn't have been but the questions were under my skin and I couldn't get them out. "It's just ... weird."  
"It'll be an adjustment," he acknowledged and lightly turning me by the arm so I faced him and was forced to raise my eyes to his. Liars can't make eye contact. But we'd both proven that wrong.  
"But I have faith that you can do it," He kissed my forehead and I let him so that when we did leave he felt better and I felt worse off.

It was more whispering and looks then outright disdain this time which I took as a sign that it was for Claire's benefit or that I'd finally driven enough fear into them that if they made me angry then they'd be next. Something along the lines of "You won't like me when I'm angry" or something. Though I didn't go muscular and green when I was ... which kind of sucked.  
"Everyone's staring at us," Claire murmured, our clasped hands tightly held between us and her finger brushing back and forth over my knuckles as a group of football players passed and looking back over their shoulders when they did. Everyone else was sneaking glances and clearly not gaining enough from the first one that they needed a second.  
"They're thinking how out of my league you are," I assured her as we passed by the doors to the gym and stopped at the shrine of flowers and cards that had been set out and dedicated to Jackie in front of them. Condolences and personalized gifts were also included and I let them steal my attention rather than the blown up picture of her smiling in her cheerleading uniform. I couldn't look at it without seeing red and I was tired of remembering blood.  
"I didn't know so many people cared," she said, staring at one of the smaller photographs and the messages written along the corners of it. I nodded, not really hearing and looking over the bouquets and teddy bears with hearts stitched onto their arms with "We miss you" emblazoned in silver. They don't care. Not really. They just want her death to be about them. My eyes rested on one of the smaller pictures of her and Max when they were kids and the two of them sporting identical tooth gaped grins. I stared at it until it lost focus and like someone had sprayed blood over the whole of it so the edges went red and dripping.  
"Zach!" Claire called suddenly and tugging on my arm. No, I'm Jess I almost said but saw his hunched shape walking past us with his headphones round his neck and swallowed down the comment.  
"Kind of a public place don't you think?" He asked, finally looking back as she called and his hands fisted and tucked deep into his pockets. "Are you sure you guys can be seen with me?"  
"Why not?" Claire asked and her earrings brushing against her shoulder as she tilted her head. Yeah, if she's willing to be seen out with me I don't see how being seen with you would do much more damage. But from the hurt in Claire's voice it was a solemn moment so I kept the comment to myself.  
"Right, I forgot. You two have been body snatched," he said disbelieving, squinting over at me to show that he meant me as well but little else to suggest that I was a part of the conversation.  
"Look, Zach," Claire reached for him as he turned away and her fingers closing on his wrist. He froze at the touch and allowed her to turn him but looking to me to explain why she was doing it with my customary harsh commentary. For once I couldn't think of any though and felt a pang looking into his eyes and only seeing distaste and basic recognition. His words that he'd like us to be friends rewritten with the harsher "I'm not going to be your boy toy" that told me that I really lost him.  
"Do you feel like we could be friends?" She played her fingers through mine as she asked it and for the moment making her anxieties my own. He stared at her for a moment, processing it as slow as he dared before scoffing when he finally heard it.  
"Us? No. We wouldn't play well together," he tucked his thumb under his bag strap and walked away from us, shoulders hunched together and his head hanging so that he disappeared quickly in the crowd and all we had were people whispering.

I kicked at the dead grass that littered under my feet and felt dull satisfaction as it broke off and shattered into the breeze and dusted the air. It blew against one of the supports holding up the rest of the refinery and went its separate ways over the hills and past where I could see. I dropped my bag off of my shoulder and tossed it into the dirt so it caused another burst to come up and this one heavier than the one that I had made. I folded my arms together and across my chest and walked between the shadows and the sun while kicking up my grass as I went and the only sign that I was there fading as quickly as the wind. I squinted as the sun cut off against the edge of one of the towers and I raised a hand to cover my eyes as I stared up at the walkway with the rusted rails where I had told Claire about the man and then soon afterwards the attempted rape. I dropped my hand so my vision darkened for a moment and let screams and blood blur my thoughts together followed by car sirens and gunfire from another memory too long before. I walked around the bottom of the stairs that led up to the walk and started to climb so the chipping paint came off in my hands and stained them red. Dad had taken me here once. Let me swing off the bars and run around the posts before taking me up and keeping an arm around me the whole time so that I wouldn't fall. He said it was a long way down and that even I wouldn't be able to get back up again if I did. It had scared me then. Falling. Dying. Somewhere along away it lost its novelty and there was no one there to hold me back. I came to the top and walked along the edge so I could see the hills stretched out in front of me and my bag forgotten in the grass below. I leaned over forward to see it and remembered the first time I had taken Claire here and the first time she had jumped off to see how much damage she could take before she'd no longer heal. I ran my finger back and forth over the metal and could almost taste the dryness of it on my tongue. _Run. _Even when she hated me, even when she thought I'd killed her brother and she dedicated her life to making mine a living hell she had used her last words to tell me to run. Better then I was in a second then I could ever hope for in my whole life and yet I was here and she was dead. I was here and Max was missing. I was here and dad was ... I wrapped an arm around my stomach to pretend that it was his and that he was behind me telling me not to get to close or I would fall. But he wasn't here. And I didn't care.  
"You wanted to see me?" A voice asked and I jumped back with my hands still gripping the metal and a long line of chipping paint coming off in my hands. The man – the Haitian – was standing only feet away from me with his yellow jacket and bald head that reflected the sunlight darkly and betraying the fact that he wasn't sweating.  
"You know you should really start wearing some bells or something," I said and dropping my hands so I stood in the middle between either side. "Make it easier to tell when you are close."  
"I didn't want to startle you," he said calmly, his hands in his pockets and the hem of his jacket fluttering in the breeze like wings.  
"Hence the bells," I said dryly and brushing my hair back from my head. "Attacking me in my bedroom might also help."  
"It was necessary force," he said with no obvious apology as I turned to the other rail and leaned over that one instead. Pretty much the same sight as the first one: Sky, hills, grass, oh look a rusted out car. And therein lies the fabulous difference.  
"You wanted to see me," he repeated and coming to stand at my side, resting his arms on the metal and leaning over as if looking for what I was seeing. I didn't bother telling him it was a pointless exercise. I didn't see anything.  
"I want to talk to Peter," I said and didn't look up as he turned to look at me, startled that with him I wasn't playing the same game as I was with everyone else. Excusing Claire. Claire was always the difference.  
"You cannot," he said and enough kindness behind his words to soften how hard they really were. Didn't matter though. It still hurt. "Mr. Bennet will know that you remember and we cannot have that."  
"Why?" I pulled back to look at him and another breeze coming to tangle over my face and ruining the seriousness of the moment. "What does it matter if he knows? What difference does it make?"  
"I thought I explained this to you," he sighed, standing up and no imprint on his jacket from the paint which was just plain unfair. "Knowledge is dangerous and what you know puts you in great danger. It's safer to pretend otherwise then admitting the truth of what you know." He was closer now then he was a minute ago and his eyes staring into mine as if willing me to understand it. He needn't have bothered though. Teachers had been trying it for years and I was still failing math. I looked away and squinted back over the hills so the rusted car was just a dot with some details.  
"Does my mom know about me?" I asked thinking of her and the way she was like a ghost whenever I was home. Leaving me out plates for breakfast and making small attempts to get the house in order but no actual physical sign of her to break the illusion that we were two strangers in the same living space where we couldn't exist in the same room and one of disappeared when the other entered.  
"She does not," he said and the metal underneath us creaking as he shifted. I nodded, not sure if I expected it or not or whether it made me relieved or disappointed.  
"And my dad?" I thought of the paperwork I had found and the way it had disappeared when I went back for it. "Did my dad know?"  
"I do not know if your father knew," he admitted and I glanced over at him to see him watching me and no emotions betrayed in his features to tell me what he was thinking and whether it lined up with his words.  
"Did you know him?" I dropped my eyes through the intricate weavings of the floor and the blowing dust and grass blowing through the cracks.  
"I met him once or twice," he said and I saw glimpses of his shoes as he moved again. "You look like him." I smiled at that, despite everything being warmed by the compliment.  
"He had papers in his office. Information about me. Did you dispose of it?" I dug my toe into one of the cracks and a moment of fantasy imagining myself shrinking through it and landing in a puddle on the ground. Whether or not I'd reform or sink into the dirt was a mystery that I left tantalizingly unsolved.  
"I did. Mr. Bennet thought it would be safer that way. I never asked what was in them," I scoffed at that and looked back at him, tears in my eyes that I explained away because of the dust.  
"Doesn't it bother you? How in control he has to be? How he thinks he does everything for the best no matter how wrong it may be? Shouldn't that ... it doesn't ...?" I fumbled with my anger and wanted to stomp my feet and tear out my hair but that would only destroy my shoes and give me bald spots and neither of those were viable options. But I was angry. And I was hurt. And I was alone.

"He cares about you more then you could ever know," he said as a way of an answer and I turned away from him, even angrier at the answer. Of course. As long as it's for love. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and I felt a tear run between my eyelashes and over my cheek. Blood. I could see blood. "And deep down you care about him. He has hurt you and he has made you angry. But is it because he cares that you are or because you do in return?" The wind blew mournfully for a moment and I could taste metallic underneath the salt. "He has done a great many things to keep you and Claire safe and a great many of them he is not proud of. But if I were to ask you honestly – could you argue that you haven't done the same?" I opened my eyes and saw the blurred shape of the wall in front of me and wiped at my cheeks before turning to face him again. But he was gone. And I was alone.

The door closed behind me and it clicked into the lock with the light from the street fading with it. The kitchen light was on and the bulb buzzing with the built in warning that we'd have to replace it soon. Rustling was coming from another one of the rooms and I peeled off my shoes by the door as I walked over to investigate it. The glass doors to the office were open and I could see mom moving back and forth through them and the sounds of paper gathered as she did. I paused in the hall to watch her, the carpet stretched out between the stairs and wall with the corner almost touching it from so many repeated leaps down the stairs. So close. Mom started to hum – not hearing me yet – and it took me a few notes before I recognized it as Aerosmith's "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing." Dad used to sing it when he worked complete with exaggerated guitar riffs and head banging that used to make me cover my eyes and giggle because it was embarrassing and I had been at an age where I was starting to know what that was like. It never stopped me from joining in though and I wasn't much better at the air guitar. She turned from the pile that Zach and I had dug through and tossing papers into the blue box she'd set out and putting other ones into the filing cabinet while continuing to hum with brief pauses for breath. It wasn't the same as when dad did it – it was more subdued which made sense. Any louder and the memories might hear and come back in full force and there were some things that could only be remembered in bits and pieces. Warm smiles, guitar riffs and last of all gunfire. My footsteps got louder on the floorboards as I walked into the office and wrapping my arms tightly around her from behind before she had time to react. She froze when I did as I buried my face in her spine and smelling the faint scent of shampoo that was a blend between some kind of flower and fruit. Her arms wrapped around where mine met and entangling our fingers so that she was holding on as tight to me as I was holding onto her. _Don't let me fall, mom _I thought and wondering why that was what I remembered. _Don't let me fall._

__Zach's feet tripped out from beneath him as he hit the tile hard and his books scattering across the hallway and under the feet of everyone else who merely stepped away to avoid them rather than getting down to help.  
" Watch where you're going gay boy!" One of the football players who tripped him called and I mentally picture squeezing his pea sized head even smaller and wondering what sound it would make when it popped. Something to aim for if I ever mastered greater control on my ability. I slammed my locker shut and clicked the lock into place as I walked over to him still gathering his work and kneeling to help.  
"Ignore those guys they're bitches," I said as I dived underneath some girl's legs to get some of the far reaching papers as they shrieked and ran away from where I crawled. Yeah, that'll survive you well in life. He snorted as he took the pages from me.  
"Thanks," he said dryly and stuffing them back into his bag. We both stood at the same time and I stepped in his way to block him and he took a step back in exasperation as I did.  
"Look I know you think that I'm an utter bitch and all that fun stuff and to be honest you're completely right," I tucked my hair behind my shoulder and tried to remember the speech I'd written out this morning and rehearsed between brushing my teeth and my daily sacrifices to Satan. Ha ha. "But someone told me once that it was all an act and that underneath I was pretty awesome. And though the person who said it isn't a bitch himself ... underneath he's pretty awesome too. And ... and I wanted him to know that because I never said it often enough. So ... if you see him ... could you let him know?" Thirty minutes of edits and rehearsal and that was all I had come up but I could see it take weight behind his eyes as if he had heard them before in a dream or a story he'd written as a child but couldn't quite remember the details. I nodded to show that I was finished and turned to walk away but stopped as he called back.  
"Wait ...," he came up behind me and I turned back to see him only inches away from me and disbelieving at his own actions. "I'm uh ...," he scratched his eyebrow and looked around as if for witnesses. "I'm Zach." He held out his hand and I stared at it for a moment before taking it myself.  
"I'm Princess Leia," I answered solemnly and he burst out into laughter, breaking the tension of the moment and I laughed with him, for the first time in weeks entirely in the present and not thinking on the memory of blood.


	13. 113 The Fix

I jogged down the stairs counting out the notes of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" as I went so each step creaked a different part of the tune. If we had one thing going for us it was that the stairs were actually quite talented when it came to nursery rhymes. And people would come from all over to hear them play. And I wouldn't have to end up working at McDonalds. I hit the last note on the last step before sliding on the rug at the bottom so this time the corner reached and made a swath across the hallway that for the first time in months was relatively dust free. I turned myself through the doorway and into the kitchen / dining room where mom was sitting at the table with a plate of pancakes set out in front of her and a newspaper in her hand. I paused to take it in for a moment – the ratty texture of her bathrobe, the streaks of grey almost tenderly weaved through her hair – before walking around her end of the table and to my own. She'd already set a place for me with a glass of juice and plate of pancakes that had poorly been arranged into a smiley face with strawberries for eyes and a smile. Apparently it hadn't been worthy of a nose. I pulled out my chair and sat down; carefully nudging one of the strawberries up to make a nose and making its smile come off crooked on one side. I could see mom smiling at me over my newspaper and I cut into one of the corners of the pancake so the eye fell off before taking a bite.

"So ... what exactly am I looking for here?" Zach asked, pressing at random keys on the keyboard and bringing up the question he should have led with.  
"Anything my dad doesn't want us to find," she answered as he brought up another window with organized rows inside of it that no doubt had a wonderful story to tell. I adjusted which leg I rested my weight on before leaning my head against my arm and moving it back from the edge of the desk. I'd already slid off twice and I was pretty sure it wasn't a "third time's the charm" situation. Unless the charm was cracking my head open. Which in either case I'd pass.  
"I thought you were good with computers," I wondered, my shoes slipping on the carpet as I half heartedly struggled to stand better upright. Spying and sneaking seemed so much more fun in the movies. We needed an explosion or a car chase soon or I was throwing in the towel. What towel? Where? See? Boring.  
"I make movies on my laptop," Zach defended and looking over to address me. What kind of movies, I wanted to ask but was kind of scared of knowing the answer.  
"No, you're good at finding those holes in the internet password-protected nanny blocker stuff," Claire backed me up, straightening and picking at the nail on her thumb.  
"Shouldn't one of you be watching the doorway? What if your dad walks in?" He asked, changing the subject and continuing to click open windows with as much information on them as the last one.  
"He's at work," Claire assured him and dropping her fingers from her lips. "It's just you, me, Jess and Mr. Muggles." She looked back to indicate him and I turned as well to see him nestled in one of the chairs as if it was befitting as his throne. Rude excuse as a pet. He growled at me as if hearing my thought and being displeased with it.  
"There's nothing," Zach sighed and leaning back in his chair away from the screen. He gave a scoffing laugh. "There's not even any porn."  
"Gross," Claire groaned as I stuck out my tongue and made a face.  
"I'm serious; this thing is totally clean," Zach apologized and clicked on several more windows to prove his point.  
"No," Claire protested and leaning over the keys. "My dad lied to me about my entire life. My biological parents. My ability. You just can't hide stuff like that. There's gotta be something."  
"If your dads the guy you're describing, I don't think he's gonna keep his secrets on the family computer," Zach explained, his voice low and placating. Claire looked over at me, eyes silently pleading that I'd have a better answer but I didn't have any to tell her which hurt more than having none for myself. Mr. Muggles suddenly jumped off the chair to the carpet and started barking in the high pitched yip of his that I swear could chip glass if used right.  
"Uh oh," Claire said quietly said and looking back from watching him go. "Shut it down." Zach scrambled to close everything as Claire took my hand and dragged me into the other room with our shoes scrambling at the floorboards. I slid to join Claire on her other side as she stopped but tripped on the corner of the rug and was aided by Zach running into me from behind. I hit the ground hard with an "oof" that came out more like "oaf" and winced at the rug burn that seared my palms. Arms came up from behind me to pull me back to my feet as the blinds clattered on the door as Mr. Bennet walked in with Mr. Muggles still yipping at his heels. Claire brushed down my jeans before quickly standing and to all appearances looking nonchalant and innocent. I fumbled with the nonchalant and didn't even try with the innocent.  
"I thought you were at work," Claire smiled as he closed the door behind him and trying to keep Mr. Muggles from sneaking out as he did. He turned and paused when he saw Zach standing next to me, leaning against the edge of the counter and to all appearances comfortable though I could hear his foot nervously tapping.  
"Forgot my cell," he explained and walking further into the kitchen, his work shoes making pronounced steps on the tile. "Zachary. What a nice surprise to see you here." He lifted his brief case up onto the counter and Zach waved with his hand still stuck inside his pocket and like he was going to take one armed wing.  
"Yeah, it's biology class," he explained in relation to standing with us. "We're lab partners now." He ducked his head to gesture to Claire and almost knocked heads with instead. Boy was a frigging hazard today. Mr. Bennet slowly nodded before glancing through the open doors to the office where the computer screen was still turned on. Fuck.  
"Yeah, we were just doing some research on the Internet," Claire interjected after noticing his glance and the look behind it. "We have presentation on ..."  
"The manatee," Zach cut in with an exaggerated look of interest. I hope ... "Also known as the sea cow." He laughed as if to say "who knew?" and I nodded to complete the illusion. See how helpful I was?  
"And you're helping?" Mr. Bennet asked and raising his eyebrows at me and taking note of the flaw that I wasn't actually in the same grade as them.  
"Just because I have no hopes for my future doesn't mean that I can't encourage other peoples," I shrugged and then nervously laughed to cover up how serious I was. He slowly nodded and glanced between the three of us as if unsure which one he should look to to slip up.  
"Do you mind if I talk to Claire in private for a moment?" He asked, a smile on his lips that I'd come to recognize as more questioning then warm and looking at me and Zach to address it. Claire turned back to look at me with a look in her eyes waiting for me to come up with an excuse to stay. I couldn't think of one and squeezed her hand one before taking Zach by the sleeve to lead him upstairs.  
"We'll wait in your room," I called back to her as we climbed up the stairs and knowing that they would listen until our footsteps fading before beginning their chat.

"So ... this is Claire's room," Zach surmised as we walked in and looking around her stuff with an air of trying to piece it all together.  
"Nope, it's Lyle's," I said and flopping down on the bed so the mattress bounced underneath me. "I just thought we'd wait in here for reasons unknown." He made a face at me and awkwardly began to pick stuff up off her shelf and turning them over in his hands. There was a picture frame next to the cabinet doors of the two of us where my arms were tightly around her from behind and she was laughing so hard her cheeks were going red. He picked it up and looked at it closer before awkwardly glancing over his shoulder at me.  
"So are you and Claire like ... girlfriends or something?" He asked and setting it back down so it clinked against the wood. I blinked at the question, suddenly flustered.  
"What?" I asked, trying to brush it off with a laugh but coming off more forced then I wanted. "What do you mean?"  
"Well ...," He shrugged like he regretted asking but was in too deep now to back out. "I always see you two holding hands and stuff and I thought ..."  
"No," I pulled one of her pillows off the end of her bed and hugged it. "No we're ... we're not dating."  
"Do you want to be?" He leaned back against the desk and suddenly serious as he surveyed me. I opened my mouth to answer – with no actual idea what I would say – when footsteps came up the stairs and Claire walked in, closing the door behind her. I quickly stood up as she did and dropping the pillow from my lap so I had to fumble to toss it back on the bed. Nice, Jess. Real smooth.  
"Nice save," he congratulated to her and nodding downstairs, our little "talk" thankfully forgotten.  
"Thanks," she said and walked over to her dresser to pull out a wind chime that was identical to the one I had and delicately carrying it over to the window.  
"So ... what now?" He wondered, coming over to stand next to me and his hands still in his pocket and resting on the footboard of her bed.  
"I need to talk to someone who has answers," she said and hung it on a hook just outside the frame and letting the breeze blow through the chimes. "He said if I needed him then I should hang these outside my window."  
"What the hell is she talking about?" He asked, looking to me but I shrugged my shoulders in place of giving him an actual answer.

We went over another bump and I grimaced as the handlebars bruised the muscles of my ass. Great, I was going to feel _that _tomorrow.  
"You alright?" Zach asked, briefly moving his hand to hold my waist before figuring out that it wasn't an issue of me falling off.  
"Just peachy," I said through gritted teeth as we went over the curb to my driveway and felt the jolt of it all the way up my spine. He slowed to a stop next to moms car and I winced as I climbed down and my legs stiff and cramped. Ow ... ow ... ow ... ow ... oh yes and ow.  
"Thanks for the ride," I said and pulling my bag higher up on my back so the books in it shifted and rested firmly against my spine. And another ow.  
"No problem," he tapped his hands against the handlebars as if working out something he needed to say but not sure if he should actually say it. "Look I'm sorry if I crossed a line back there asking about you and Claire that's none of your business." He snuck a glance at me and I nodded so he know I heard and understood.  
"Thanks," I said and tucked my hands deep inside my pockets and feeling awkward that he was still standing there. I waited for him to leave and he waited for me to say something else and it culminated in an awkward staring game that I came out of victorious when he finally blinked.  
"Listen if you ever need to talk about anything or in particular ... that then I'm here for you," he shrugged like it didn't mean anything but continued to stare at me and waiting for a reaction.  
"Thanks," I repeated, unsure what else to say. Thanks for figuring it out better in a couple of days then I had managed to do in a couple of years? In the past six months I've discovered my abilities, almost been raped, almost been killed and had to lie about all of it because it's too dangerous for me to know so I really don't think it's the time for a love life? Or to a lesser extent, you need to get a seat on your handlebars before I lose the ability to walk and not for the good reason.  
"Do you have ... feelings for her?" He cautiously asked, tapping his handlebars again. I laughed humourlessly.  
"I thought you said it was none of your business," I dug my toe into one of the cracks of the driveway and tried to wiggle it large but on my short list of skills this wasn't one of them.  
"I know it's not so ... you can hit me if you want or something but if you do ...," he trailed off and I kept my eyes on the gravel so I wouldn't have to look at him. I could feel that he was watching me though and the acknowledgement of it curling and turning under my skin to render it loose with the question he asked and I wasn't ready to answer.  
"I don't know," I admitted and raised my eyelevel to match with the front wheel of his bike. "I mean I love her so much and I ..." I thought of the way her hair looked after she just woke up, the weight of her hand in mine, the way she smiled just before she laughed and found it instead replaced by another smile; a crooked one that went higher on one side then the other. Then _that _was buried by a weight crushing my legs and an insistence that I asked for it and the whole process just fell to pieces between my fingers.  
"It's complicated," I summed up and brushed my hair back from my face so I could look at him again and the soft looking scruff that lined his cheeks. His eyes scanned my face for a moment before he nodded as a sign that he would drop it.  
"So ... you need a ride to school tomorrow?" He asked, indicating the front of the handlebars.  
"Nah, I think my mom is driving me," I explained and pulling the strap of my bag tighter over my shoulder. "We could give you one too if you want." He grinned.  
"I think I'm good but thanks and ... I meant it. The whole if you want to talk and that. I'm always around," his smile became more sincere and I smiled with it.  
"Thanks," I said ... again and rested my hand briefly on his on the handlebars before finally turning to go.

"There was a fire in an apartment building fifteen years ago in Kermit, Texas," Zach read, scrolling down the article so everything he just said was apparent in the headline. "Kermit, why does that sound familiar?"  
"Because of the frog?" I suggested and stealing a handful of Claire's fries – again – which finally caused her to admit defeat and push the rest of her plate towards me.  
"Check it out," Zach said, briefly laughing in recognition of my joke and indicating a section of the page. "A 21-year-old woman was killed in the explosion. Meredith Gordon."  
"Oh my God," Claire murmured, as Zach turned the screen so she could read it better.  
"Also killed in the fire was her 18-month-old daughter," he continued, scrolling down the page. "Claire I think that's you."  
"But I didn't die," she pointed out, brow furrowed in confusion.  
"Very well spotted," I mumbled and she lightly hit me in the arm in response.  
"Somebody thought you did," Zach said solemnly and sneaking a glance at her reaction before looking away. I leaned over to read over his shoulder and each line I saw raising more questions that we weren't able to answer. It was like drilling holes inside yourself and not having the material to fill them back in.  
"What am I supposed to do with all of this?" She asked over my thoughts and I let the sound of her voice ground me back to the present.  
"You might still have some real family out there," I tried to offer, knowing how weak it sounded as I did. "Rich aunt or an eccentric uncle?" See, this is why I don't comfort people.  
"Great, an uncle," she scoffed quietly and leaning back in her chair and away from the screen, trying and failing to hide how disappointed she was. I reached across the table and laced my fingers through hers to squeeze and after a second of panic that I barely even acknowledged to myself she finally squeezed back.

I dropped my bag at the floor by the end of my bed and fell back onto my mattress so the weight sank underneath me and most likely left an imprint through the layers. I stared up at the ceiling where a crack had made its wall through the plaster and every year mom had promised that she would have someone look into fixing it and every year going back on that promise. I could hear her moving downstairs still, on the phone again and trying to figure out her work schedule so she could be at home more. It was comforting – the sound of someone else nearby. I couldn't stay at the Bennets forever and even when I was there were some moments when I felt so lonely my chest hurt. And that's when they came. The memories. The nightmares. The gunfire and the screams and the blood. The secrets and the lies and the words that played over and over in my head before breaking apart and making less and less sense as I went. I closed my eyes, letting my breath out slowly and feeling my pulse slow and a cool press down my spine. It settled on me comfortably and I opened my eyes and lifted my fingers to only see thin air but the feel of them still there and waving at me. See? If you can't see yourself then you're not really there and those things can't touch you. Right? No. But it was still a comforting thought.  
"Uh Jess are you ...?" The door opened and I dropped my hand as mom stood in the doorway and squinted in surprise. "Jess?" She scanned over the chaos of my room and a weight pressed down on my chest as I remembered that she couldn't see me. She shrugged her shoulders and closed the door behind her, the sound of her footsteps leading downstairs before fading entirely. She couldn't see me. There was something unbelievably tragic about that thought.


	14. 114 Distractions

"The manatee is on the brink of extinction," Claire read out, holding out the open book in front of her and Mr. Muggles growling at the pictures. Yeah, like you look any better. "There's one at the aquarium in Lubbock, and the marine biologist said we could drop by any time." I nodded to back her up though considering my track record my input was less than none given.  
"You're asking my permission to skip school?" Sandra asked slowly to make sure she heard every word right and rescuing Mr. Muggles from the comparisons of sea cow and ... whatever he was.  
"No, if I wanted to skip school, I'd check into home room and then sneak out Ms. Roberts window like Jess taught me," Claire explained and Sandra glanced over to raise her eyebrows at me. I quickly lowered my gaze to my bowl cereal and dug through the soggy remains. Always at breakfast. "But you've always stressed honesty, so I'm being honest. The manatee is a very noble creature." I snorted and this time I could tell that all of them were watching and covered the sound with a cough.  
"Corn flake," I gasped and exaggerated the cough once more to carry on the excuse before dropping it all together and continuing my breakfast.  
"Is your car in working order, Zachary?" Sandra wondered and I snuck a glance at Zach again, still puzzled by his fashion choice of wearing suspenders and making it obvious each time I made a face at them. Though I wasn't really one to talk about good fashion sense.  
"Just had the oil changed," he nodded and raising his eyebrows at the face I made that I dropped as soon as he looked. He'd be getting enough heck from everyone else before the day was done anyway.  
"Any tickets?" She pressed, Mr. Muggles licking at the back of her hand.  
"Just parking," he assured her. She took it into consideration for a moment before turning on me. Uh oh this couldn't be good.  
"You will be home for dinner?" She asked, glancing over at Claire halfway through the question to indicate that she was talking to the both of us.  
"Yes," Claire eagerly promised.  
"That's not a question," she pointed out though it sounded suspiciously like one. "I'm making fajita's. Zach, you're welcome to join us." Claire grinned and pulled her mom close to her chest as Sandra giggled with her eyes twinkling over the top of Mr. Muggles head. I smiled with her but felt a tightness in my chest all the same and swirled my spoon through the soggy remains of my cereal and looking for a salvageable flake.  
"Let's go," Sandra kissed Mr. Muggles on the head and pulled her purse over her shoulder to carry him to the door with her footsteps retreating and finally the door closing. Claire's smile dropped and she urgently turned to me and Zach.  
"We'll wait fifteen minutes and then head out," she said in an urgent whisper before turning to me. "Are you sure you can't come?"  
"Yeah, I promised mom I'd help out with some things around the house," I said and tilting my bowl to scrape at the bottom. "I told her it's a half day. She believed me." Zach laughed and I got up to walk around the counter and dump the rest of my cereal into the sink.

I rolled my shoulders back as I closed the door behind me and kicked my shoes off to rest in the pile of others. For two people we sure had a lot of shoes and I could only recall owning one pair of them. So either mom had a shoe fetish or we had people living in our house that I didn't know about. Dun dun dun. I stepped around the table and to the hallway before making the long trip up the stairs with my feet dragging with each step. I probably shouldn't have lied to Claire but there was something about her meeting her biological mother that made me feel put off to the side. Like I'd finally found a part of her life that I couldn't be included in. And it was selfish and stupid but I didn't want to be there for that. I didn't want to witness a part of her life that couldn't include me. I was just that torn up inside and not able to let go of her holding me. Ah I got so poetic when I was alone. I pushed my bedroom door open before kicking it shut behind me and tossing my bag up on my bed. Well now that I was home I could get some tidying done, right? Oh I make myself laugh. Something moved in the corner of my eye and I froze. My heart beat seemed to stop and I could feel every pulse of my blood. Someone was in here. Someone who wasn't supposed to be. I swallowed hard and tried to gather the energy in my palm so I felt the pulsing of it between my fingers. One ... two ... I spun and threw the energy as hard as I could but the man behind me deflected it as easily as a wayward football and the remains of it simmered and faded into the air with a crackle. He turned his head to look at me, his chin angled out on a tilt and a smirk on his lips.  
"Now that wasn't very nice," He said his voice almost deadly calm and that smirk growing into a grin. I tried to take a breath but it caught in my chest and I tried to take an inconspicuous step back to the door and hating myself for shutting it behind me. He raised a finger and waggled it back and forth with a tsk tsk sound from behind his teeth.  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned and taking a step closer to me. "You know I could kill you before you tried and it would be a lot more fun if we had the chance to talk first ... Jessica." I froze. How did he ... I heard screeching of flesh deafening in my ears, a scream and then blood bubbled over a single word: run. He saw the gears click into place in my head and his grin became sickeningly wider.  
"So you do remember me. I was hoping you would though in my poor manners I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Sylar," He made a move as if to shake my hand but abandoned it when I shrank back. He looked me up and down in place of it and I felt paralyzed under the look. "You're prettier then I remember," he congratulated, his eyes finally resting on my face and the look I found there cold.  
"Can't say the same about you," I said, licking my dried lips and squeezing my hands into fists to stop them shaking. He stared at me in surprise for a moment before laughing, the sound of it echoing low in his throat.  
"You're funny," he observed and started to walk across the other end of my room and looking over the disorganization of the shelves. "It's a remarkable thing to be able to maintain a sense of humor. Even after everything that has happened to you." He looked back over his shoulder to wink at me before turning back and picking up a book. "One of the earlier copies of Charlotte's Web. You don't seem the type." He turned around to lean back against the wall and flipping through the pages with half interest. I tried to calm my breathing but my hands were still shaking and I was half torn between thinking of an escape route and silently begging that he didn't rip the pages. Stupid thing to be worried about considering it might be splattered with my blood any second. He put the book down and continued looking, his back to me and humming quietly under my breath. I glanced quickly at the door before taking another step towards it, trying to estimate how quickly I could open it and be down the stairs before he noticed. As if hearing my thoughts he raised an arm back behind him and the chest from my corner scraped across the floor to block the door from me getting through and crinkling the layers of the rug it went over. Fuck.  
"You can tell a lot about a person by the things they own," he continued, lowering his arm and alternating between picking things up to examine them before putting them back with little interest. "You on the one hand give off a certain air of being closed off and harsh and yet ... you own the entire little house on the prairie books." He turned to indicate the books he meant before putting it back where he found it.  
"What makes you think that I'm closed off?" I asked, trying to keep him talking as I tried to figure another way out. If I got to the window could I create energy to catch me as I fell or did it not work like that? I'd never tried it before though in all fairness this might be my last time to try.  
"Well all your personal belongings are hidden by more basic things and you have no pictures of friends which gives off the suggestion that you don't have any," he opened up the top drawer of my dresser and began pulling apart what he found inside. Which thankfully wasn't my underwear drawer. "And as for being harsh ...," He glanced over his shoulder with that same smirk on his face. "...You ran and left your friend to die." I felt his words coldly in my stomach and his smirk widened upon realizing that his words struck a nerve. He looked around for another moment before making a proud exclamation and walking over to sit in my chair with the diary I hadn't written in for months in his hands. He settled back into the seat and began flipping through the pages with partial interest. My legs started to hurt from standing tense for so long and I half wondered I could sit down on my bed. Seeing how close it was to the chair where he sat though maybe not.  
"You have an interesting writing style," he remarked, licking his thumb to turn another page and his gaze skipping back and forth down it. "Not bad penmanship."  
"Is this what you do with all your victims?" I wondered, adjusting my weight and thinking that it would somehow make me more comfortable. "Go through their stuff and bore them with pointless details?"  
"Funny that you find them pointless when so far I've only listed details of yourself," he surmised and sat suddenly upright and snapping the book shut. I tensed at the sound as he rested his chin on the edge. "You don't think very highly of yourself do you?"  
"And let me guess you think too high," I guessed and was rewarded with another grin. He quickly stood and rested my diary onto my bedside dresser with his fingers lingering on the cover.  
"Remind me to take this when I go," he said, indicating it again before turning back to my dresser. "I'm curious to see how it ends."  
"By all means," I welcomed him and glanced at the window again. I hadn't opened it in years. Could it even open? I guess I'd find out.  
"You know curious thing is that – that night in the school – I wasn't even looking for you," he explained and pulling out an old piano lessons notebook that I had gotten years ago and never bothered throwing out. "My target was your dear friend Miss. Claire Bennet." My throat tightened and my vision tunnelled at how coldly he said her name and the implications behind it. "But then you were there and forgive me but I was tempted."  
"I'm flattered," I tried to say but my tongue had gone dry again and swallowing didn't help. He laughed and turned back with a snow globe in his hand and shook it so the "snow" flew around inside and blurred the scenery inside. I couldn't remember what it was. Dad had given it to me and I hadn't looked at it since. He rotated it in his hand for a moment, examining it from all sides before resting it back on the dresser.  
"What are you going to do with me?" I dared to ask and feeling coils tense in my arms and legs that he hadn't made an implication yet either way. It would be better if he got it over with and killed me already but for some reason felt the need to drag it out. Being dead didn't scare me. Dying did.  
"You really sure you want the answer to that?" The threat in the words made worse by the chuckle in his voice.  
"Not really but if you insist on touching my things and making false assumptions then I'd prefer you get it over with," I crossed my arms over my chest in an attempt to hold myself closer together and so that when he turned I appeared more nonchalant then I really was. He cocked his head to the side and examined me like I was a new species he had just discovered and wasn't sure what to do with.  
"Bit of a dangerous game you're playing, don't you think?" He asked and walking closer towards me. My insides screamed at me to move but I stayed rooted in place until he was less than a foot from me and towering so I could see the darkness of his eyes hidden beneath the heaviness of his brow.  
"No more then you are," I reasoned, suddenly remembering Mr. Bennet and struck with a nearly crushing relief that he would somehow know Sylar was here and was probably on his way to deal with him. All I had to do was stall him until then. The thought gave me confidence and I even managed a smile. "You're all the same you know."  
"Who are all the same?" He wondered, genuinely seeming curious.  
"Serial killers," I shrugged like the label didn't scare and fascinate me. "An inflated sense of importance and that the world has somehow done you wrong. So you take it out on them person by person and all the while growing smaller as a person as you begin to realize it's not the world that's wrong." The seconds ticked as he stared at me and I felt panic rise that I had gone too far before he laughed and walked around and past me, turning as he did to follow his gaze before he started rummaging through the drawers of my vanity. I could see is reflection looking down in the mirror and his brow crinkled as he searched.  
"And how do you presume to know all that?" He wondered as he pulled out an old shirt I had and tossing it aside with disinterest.  
"I took a class on law," I shrugged and leaned back against my bed with the weight of it behind me almost making my legs sag in relief. "Did a project on serial killers."  
"So you think you know me," he laughed at the idea and picked up a tiny ballerina figurine that an aunt had given me with the idea that since I had been six I clearly liked ballet. It was a testament to my organizing skills that I hadn't thrown it out yet.  
"You presume to know me," I pointed out though it clearly wasn't the same. He raised his eyes to look at me in the reflection.  
"You're easy to understand," he said solemnly and straightening.  
"And you're not?" I guessed as he turned back to face me and running his fingers through a necklace. He made a pointed step closer to me then another and another until he was almost nose to nose with me and his head titled down so he still towered but closer than before.  
"I'm not like everyone else," he whispered, his voice low and harsh and crawling over my spine like a finger tracing its way down.  
"Of course not. You're special," I forced it out between my teeth, making myself maintain eye contact and not liking what I found. His eyes were not as dark up close, a lighter shade of brown with the sense that they had once been shy but had hardened over too many times for anything good to break through. They moved back and forth over my face and I dug my fingers into my palm to keep from closing my eyes and imagining what was coming. I'd pushed him too far. I'd hit that nerve. He was going to kill me. I was going to die screaming like Jackie.  
"And you're not," he pulled away like that and was moving away from me with his footsteps unexpectedly loud on the floor and like an extra heartbeat in my chest. I looked over my shoulder as he picked my diary back up and weighed it his hands.  
"You mind if I keep this?" He wondered and carried it with him back around the bed without waiting for an answer.  
"By all means. Let me know what you think and whether you know me better after reading it," I said and he came to stand in front of me again, still weighing the book in his hands as if seeing if it was worth the bother. He glanced over at me and I held my breath knowing that _this _was it. The grand finale. The moment he'd been waiting for. I struggled against closing my eyes so I wouldn't see it coming and instead stared at his neck where I could see his pulse beating. But it didn't come. I watched and I waited and finally looked back up at him as he weighed the decision of killing me as easily as he did the two pound book.  
"You can breathe easy now. I'm not going to kill you," he finally said and my shoulders sagged in relief while the rest of me tensed. Serial killers liked to do that too. Give you that last shred of hope – no matter how feeble – before taking it away.  
"Why not?" I asked, curious and putting him off another moment and listening for the footsteps of Mr. Bennet or the Haitian coming upstairs. If anything I thought they'd have been here sooner. He considered for a moment, not one hundred percent sure why himself.  
"I like you," He finally decided and lifting a finger to brush my hair back from my face where the bruise had finally faded but was still tender to touch. "You fascinate me. You're not like the others with their screaming and begging for their life. Perhaps that'll change one day and I'll lose interest. Until then though ... I wish you well." He dropped his fingers from my face and moved back to the door, flicking his wrist so the chest moved from blocking the door and hitting the wall sharply across from it. The door opened a second later and he turned back to sweep a bow and tip an imaginary hat, my diary still pressed to his chest.  
"Until next time, Jessica." And he walked back through the doorway so it slammed shut behind him and his receding footsteps sounding after. I listened to them go before everything collapsed inside of me and I let out a choking gasp before crumbling to the floor.

I clung onto the edges of my pillow, flicking the zipper of the pillow case back and forth and my heartbeat stopping with every creak or groan of the house. My phone buzzed again and I slid it under my pillow to muffle the sound and the fact that it was the sixth time that Claire had texted. I told her I couldn't make dinner and she had messaged me every hour after asking what was wrong. I nearly died. Again. The wind pressed against the window pane and I buried my face into the pillow to block out the sound and ignoring how hard my pulse was going and how it felt like ice hardening and melting under my skin. I could hear my dad in my head. See the uneasy smile on his face and his nervous readjusting as my seat belt as he said that we were going on a little trip where I would be safe and then the sound of gunfire that shattered my insides with each recollection. They should have just killed me with him. It would have been so much easier. If I had known what came after I probably would have asked them to myself. Tears welled in my eyes and I struggled against choking on the sob in my throat. I turned my face away from my pillow and saw the glitter of the streetlight off the edge of my snow globe with the flakes still on the buildings inside from where Sylar had shaken it. I felt how close he had stood to me and how ready I was to accept whatever came next as long as it was quick and I didn't feel it. As long as I was dead and there was no more pain. The sob came up anyway and I bit in my sleeve to keep it quiet and started to quietly cry into my arm in an attempt to not wake mom in the other room. I didn't care if I died. It was dying that scared me.


	15. 115 Run!

Disclaimer: I am so sorry for the unintentional hiatus. My laptop keyboard broke so I couldn't get access to it or any of my files. But here it is. Enjoy!

I rolled over onto my back to stare at the ceiling and blinked several times against the early morning light. It came through the blinds in slits and crystallized the dust mites in the air so it almost looked like snow. But vastly unhealthier. I rolled onto the other side and saw the snow globe that I had never touched moved and on my dresser so the light touched the glass. It all came back in a rush and I exhaled painfully as I took it all in with the pieces of it shattering inside my head and making me bleed where they landed. I sat bolt upright and crawled to the end of my bed to where the carpet was still tangled in front of the door and drag marks had scrapped their way across the floorboards from where the chest was pushed. I sagged back into the blankets before pulling them up to my chest and hugging them like no matter how feeble they were a shield and that if I closed my eyes and buried beneath them then they would protect me.

The door closed behind me with a clatter and I jogged across the hall and down the short steps before coming to a stop when Claire looked up from leaning over Sandra. Something flashed in her eyes for half a moment and I remembered the numerous answered texts and the urgent questions inside each one. I should have answered. But I didn't want to answer. That meant talking about it and thinking about it was bad enough.  
"You okay?" She asked, walking over to stand in front of me and her hair gathered in the fur of her hood and my fingers aching to sweep it back. I instead looked over to where Sandra sat in the chair with her expression heavy but vacant, her fingers brushing back through Mr. Muggles fur and repeating the pattern like she was locked in it and couldn't figure out how to stop.  
"What's wrong?" I asked and walked over to stand beside her and resting my fingers lightly on her sleeve. She didn't answer and I looked back to Claire who's eyes betrayed how worried she was though she tried to cover it with a sad smile.  
"Appointment with a neurologist. They did some tests," She tucked her hands inside her pockets and burrowed her neck further into her jacket. I turned back to Sandra and took note of how pale her skin was and how fragile she looked in her coat and scarf where usually I'd find a smile and quip but now had gone silent. She was never quiet. Ever since I'd known her she'd had something to say and now she'd lost even that.  
"I'll go make some tea," Claire uncertainly said to fill the silence and squeezed my arm as she passed to walk into the kitchen and the sound of her shuffling through the cupboards for wherever we kept the ingredients. I carefully stepped around Sandra's legs as to not disturb her and slowly knelt in front of her to bury my face in her lap. She didn't move for a moment before I felt her fingers start to move through my hair and like with Mr. Muggles brushing back and forth until I was lulled by the feel and closed my eyes.  
"I'll be fine," she said quietly so I felt the vibration of her voice louder then I heard it, her fingers going back and forth to tangle through the strands. "Don't you worry about me. I'll be fine." I wanted to believe her. So I nodded my head so she'd know I understood but gripped her waist tighter all the same.

"So what happened to you last night?" Claire asked, diving into the question before the door was closed and I had a chance to change the subject before she started. She probably knew that I was going to do that though and beat me to the punch. Darn her.  
"What do you mean?" I wondered innocently and tossed myself down onto her bed and picking up one her teddy bears to adjust the knit sweater it was wearing. Of course it was stitched on though so it came off more awkwardly then I wanted and I tossed it back onto the pillow in abandonment of my efforts. Fine. Let him be indecent.  
"You dodged my texts," she walked over to sit next to me, the mattress sinking under our weight as she played nervously with her fingers as the only sign of how unsettled she was. I took her hand to still them and turned her palm over so I could see her nails and how chewed to the quick they were. Like mine. I raised her fingers to my lips and kissed them, stilling the way they trembled and calming her at once. Selfish as I was I love her selflessly and I wasn't going to add to the weight on her shoulders.  
"My battery died and I couldn't find my charger," I shrugged off, placing my hand directly on top of hers so I could lace our fingers together and see for myself how well they fit together.  
"I told you that you should clean your room," she said quietly, half laughing as I turned our hands again to entwine our fingers over and over to see how best our fingers fit. It was a testament to the Universe that we were so different but that our fingers fit so well. Or genetics but I liked my first answer better.  
"I know," I sighed, turning our hands again before loosening them and letting mine fall. "Truth is I'm kind of scared. Knowing me I have to have some unstable radiation or something somewhere." She laughed full out and I took it as a sign that she was at ease and that I was off the hook.  
"So," I said, turning to swing my legs over the bed and crossing them at once. Which of course – uncoordinated as I was – nearly made me fall off head first to make a human spinning top. A career path if doing nothing didn't work out. "Tell me about your mom." She grinned and swung her own legs over to mimic me and – of course – doing it with more grace then I had done.

I half heartedly stirred the spaghetti around my plate before stopping mid stir. What would whole hearted stirring look like? Probably involving a lot of dancing and singing with a fireworks show and streamers to demonstrate how into it they were. Which would be kind of weird. Not too mention expensive. And a little too over exaggerated ... How did I start thinking about this again?  
"You're kind of quiet," mom observed and I glanced over to see her still sitting at the head of the table and watching me cautiously like she wasn't sure what she'd find. How would you know you don't know me well enough to have a comparison. I swallowed down the bitter thought and tried to give her a reassuring smile.  
"Just thinking," I shrugged and cut up one of my meat balls before chewing on one of the chunks.  
"About what?" She pressed, taking a sip of her milk and not dropping her gaze which suggested she wasn't going to drop the question either. Dancing spaghetti.  
"School," I answered instead, not thinking she'd get the dancing noodles. Not that I really got them either but I was used to my strangeness by now.  
"Oh," she said quietly and looking back down at her plate. I nodded and we sat in silence for a moment with only the sounds of us chewing and the clock behind her keeping me from going insane. I thought of the Bennet's and what our dinner conversation could have been right now. Sandra and her Mr. Muggles propaganda, Lyle kicking me under the table and complaining when I kicked back, Claire quiet but sneaking glances at me and the two of us almost bursting into laughter for no reason while Mr. Bennet watched it all with a small smile like he was just happy to be there and observe it and that it was all he could never want. But now Sandra was sick, Lyle was sullen, Claire was living a lie and I could barely stand to be in the same room as Mr. Bennet let alone the same table. So I was here. With mom. And no idea how to strike up a conversation when there was nothing to start it with.  
"How was ... work?" I tried, picking the safest topic and hoping she had at least one or two sentences to say on it. Three if I encouraged her with a good head, maybe four if I said "oh" with interest.  
"It's been good. Switching around hours so that's been a bit chaotic but worth the effort," she smiled up at me and I returned it, wanting to say thank you or that I appreciated her trying when I was doing so little but that would close the door we'd been trying to open and remind us why we had to try so hard in the first place. I flipped the other side of my meat ball either and turned it slowly for my inspection before deeming that it was edible ... considering that the rest of it was.  
"Did uh ... did dad have any medical conditions? Before he died?" I asked, what Claire had told me about her biological mother shifting its way up to the surface and fracturing any other thought. Mom froze with her fork half raised to her lips to look at me and like she was needing the extra moment to reassure herself what I really said.  
"Why do you ask?" She wondered uncomfortably, lowering her fork and adjusting her napkin with miniscule movements.  
"I just realized that I never asked," I explained weakly and trying to cover it with a shrug. "Claire met her biological parents a little while ago and it was one of the questions that came up and I realized that I'd never asked. I mean ... nothing that I could inherit?" I snuck a glance at her as she considered to stare at me before brushing it off and returning to her dinner.  
"Not that I'm aware of," She shrugged and taking another bite. "I'm sure he would have mentioned it if he did."  
"And what about you?" I tried again; fork frozen and almost scrambling for the answer. "Anything ... at all?"  
"My mother had lung cancer but besides that I can't think of anything," she replied before lifting her head to stare at me as if my reasoning was written and could be explained on my face. She settled back in her chair as it hit her. "This is about Jackie isn't it?" The name struck a chord and I focused on the clock behind her head with the hands moving and the ticking getting louder with each beat.  
"What do you mean?" I asked, watching the seconds and counting them between my question and her answer. Three ... Four ... Five ...  
"She died. You almost died. You've had an epiphany about how fragile life is and ... you're asking questions. You're thinking things through. It's natural with a trauma," She smiled faintly as if to comfort me with it and I barely nodded as I heard the logic behind the thought.  
"Yeah. That must be it," I smiled to congratulate her on figuring it out and she turned back to her food with all the ease of knowing how normal her daughter was in finding something precious about life. If only she knew. I turned back to my plate, turning the limp noodles with my fork but stopped when I was struck on how familiar it looked. Like brains. Brains soaked with blood.

Mr. Muggles barking was the first thing I heard when I closed the door and I groaned inwardly that he hadn't yet learned that silence was golden. Or that things as annoying as him should be quiet when it would be oh so easy to punt him off the back porch.  
"Mr. Muggles!" I called and turned around the corner to the kitchen where he was skittering back and forth on his nails with his fur standing on end like he'd been shocked. Another option.  
"Go away! Scat! Shoo!" I looked up to see Sandra on the other side of the kitchen with a dish rag and angrily waving it at Mr. Muggles who didn't seem to know what to do with his greatest protector turned on him.  
"Sandra, what are you doing?" I asked in horror, something vacant behind her eyes that made my heart hurt in my chest.  
"This mangy thing won't stop following me. He came out of nowhere," she said and backing up again with the sound of a pot of water boiling and sinister under her voice.  
"This is your dog. You love him," I said, leaving off the given _for some reason. _The door closed in the front hall and a "Mom! I'm home!" Came after it.  
"Claire!" My voice broke on the end of her name and I swallowed hard out how angry Sandra looked – a woman who I'd never even hear raise her voice. Footsteps came into the kitchen and Claire was suddenly at my shoulder, taking in stalk of the situation and her shoulders tensing with it.  
"Mom what's going on?" She asked, her voice stiff as if trying too hard to keep from shaking.  
"This thing is following me. I think it has rabies," she said and threw the towel as hard as it could, skidding past Mr. Muggles as he shrank back and whined.  
"Mom!" Claire yelled in panic and I knelt to pull Mr. Muggles into my arms where he buried his face in my chest and whimpered. "This is your dog, Mr. Muggles. You love him." _For some reason.  
_"I don't have a dog," she said, hands clasped and her eyes narrowed in dangerous certainty. "I don't _know _any Mr. Muggles. And I don't know _you. _Either of you." She turned and marched from the kitchen with fading footsteps as Claire and I stood frozen, Mr. Muggles still shaking in my arms and his weight the only thing keeping me steady.


	16. 116 Unexpected

Reviews: Thank you very much everyone who has favorited, alerted, reviewed, viewed etc. I appreciate every one. Now here are some that I can't answer privately:  
Guest: Yes, she has romantic feelings for Claire but it's a little more complicated than that.  
Momma: I'm glad you are! And yes I am :)

"Dad!" Claire yelled, the tremble in her voice betraying the depth of her fear as she bolted from the kitchen into the hall with her footsteps frantic and rushed. "Dad!" I moved to follow her then pulled back when seeing she was already gone and got stuck in the space between the kitchen and living room with a whimpering dog in my arms and my heart beating so fast I couldn't see straight. Where did I go? What did I do? I spun again as if it would help me think of something and unable to see anything but the look in Sandra's eyes and the way she had pulled away like we were creatures she didn't want to name let alone look at. I'd known her since I was eight years old, Claire since she was one. How could she not know us?  
"Hi, sweetie," a voice kindly said and I slowly turned as I recognized the sound of it and watching as Sandra came back into the room with a smile on her lips as she walked to the counter with a dish towel in hand. "Decided to come over for supper?"  
"Uh ...," I said, replaying the last few minutes in my head to check for any details I may have missed or left holes in my memory. She started to chop something on the cutting board and I edged around the island to see her better and any sign that she might snap back and forget me. She stopped when she saw me sneaking around and lowered her knife to the board beside the – ah yes onions.  
"Sweetheart, are you okay?" She asked; hand on her hip as she watched me and taking concern where others might have found it in character. I stared at her blankly, unable to reconcile myself with her when a moment I'd found that image shattered and was not sure what to do with the pieces. If I held them too tight they'd cut me. If I dropped them they'd break. "Honey, loosen your grip on Mr. Muggles you'll smother him." I looked down at the bundle in my arms with Mr. Muggles looking up at me with beady eyes as if sharing her opinion and thankful that someone had been kind enough to translate. I slowly knelt to let him out of my arms and he strutted off into the hall with his head and tail held high, nails clicking on the wood. Stupid dog.  
"Mom?" Claire asked, coming back into the room and dragging Lyle by the arm as she did, the look on his face indicating that it was not his idea. "Do you know who this is?" I rose to see over the counter again and Sandra returned to her cutting before looking over her shoulder to acknowledge the question.  
"Claire, leave your brother alone," she chastised, knife tapping against the board before she swept the chopped onions to the side and continuing on the other half.  
"You recognize us?" Claire asked, disbelief wrestled with relief as she looked to me for an answer I didn't have.  
"Yes, you are the daughters who are supposed to be setting the dinner table," she answered, turning back around again with her hand replaced to her hip and the urge to eye roll obvious in her posture. Claire looked at me in clear panic and I almost missed that she'd referred to me by daughter.  
"Jess and I were standing there just a minute ago, and you had no idea who we were," she explained, uneasy breathing tripping under her words as she glanced at where we were standing before as if memory could replay it for us and tell us who was wrong.  
"Lyle, help Claire and Jess set the table," Sandra sighed, curls loose around her shoulders as she shook her head and turned back to so the sound of her cutting filled the silence.  
"Good thing Dad's not home, 'cause he would so drug test you too," Lyle smugly murmured as he past us so I stuck out my leg to trip him and was rewarded for the effort by his stumble and loud exclamation of "Jess!"

Claire angled my foot better to hit off the light better before expertly apply the brush over my little toe nail with the red sharp in the light. She went back to the bottle for more before continuing over the surface and biting her lip when she missed and made me look like I had a nasty cut.  
"Sorry," she mumbled and wiping it away with a tissue, returning with more care and further titling my foot. I leaned my chin on my knee pulled up to my chest and tried to blink away the idea of the color looking like blood and wishing that I'd asked for another shade.  
"Girls, do we need to talk?" Sandra asked, picking a glass off the table and pausing to wait for our answer.  
"She's just painting my nails I swear," I defended in exaggeration, hands up and innocent but no inner commentary to continue the sarcasm. She raised her eyebrows at me with a smile and disbelieving shake of her head.  
"No," Claire replied quietly, moving on to my other toe before pausing and letting a blot of it drip and start to harden on the nail. "Yes." She screwed the brush back into the bottle before working on what she'd spilt but having waited too long so it only smeared and making my stomach turn in memory. "Mom, you know how you sometimes forget things?"  
"Honey, is this about my trip to the neurologist?" She asked sympathetically, turning the glass round in her hand so the bottom of it worried into her palm. "It's just some headaches. I don't want you to worry. Either of you." She came closer to kiss my forehead before walking back into the kitchen with that reassurance gone with her.  
"But they don't know what's causing it, right?" I asked voice so quiet I didn't think she heard me and not sure if I wanted her to if I already knew the answer. I picked at the paint that had hardened and the stain of it bleeding onto my fingers.  
"We are still waiting on the results from the tests," she admitted, putting the glass down and wiping a cloth across the table with her hand outstretched to catch the crumbs.  
"What if it's not something that's responsible for it but someone?" Claire asked, gaze unfocused and something dangerous in her behind the question.  
"What on earth are you talking about?" Sandra asked, disbelieving and not a pause in her movements as she asked her own question.  
"What if you knew a secret and they had a way to brainwash you?" She asked, eyes lifting to mine and everything we knew between us heavy in the look.  
"You've been inhaling that nail polish for too long," Sandra laughed, walking over to the fridge and bringing out the milk. "Let's curl up in my bed, piece of pie, glass of milk, and watch an old Cary Grant movie." She started to pour herself a glass and raised her eyebrows excitedly as if it could do the trick and make us drop it and get excited with her too.  
"Mom, I'm serious," Claire pleaded and her voice cracking with the words.  
"I know this is a little scary," Sandra tried, not understanding but in her own way doing her best. "But dad's in charge of talking to the doctors, and they will come up with the answers." I lowered my head back to my knee and from where it rested blew at my toes to dry them, the sheen of them dark in the living room light and look sinister when I turned my ankle.  
"What if it gets worse?" Claire was asking, unscrewing the brush and taking my other foot in her hand. "And next time that you ..." A crash caught off her words and we both jumped, the bottle between us dropping to spill darkly across the carpet. Sandra was gone from where she had been standing behind the counter and my heart forced itself into my throat and I choked on it in panic.  
"Mom!" Claire screamed and I tore myself away from the couch and around the counter to find lying collapsed on the tile with her eyes closed and arm outstretched. A sob tore apart my stomach and I fell to my knees beside her to cradle her head and fingers fumbling for the pulse at her neck.  
"Mom!" Claire was beside me and desperately shaking her so the stain of milk spread and underneath her like blood discoloured and sinister for being the wrong shade. "Mom! Please wake up."

"Dad, you have to come home," Claire tearfully pleaded, her fingers shaking as she held the phone to her ear and digging her other hand into the folds of Sandra's sweater. "Mom fell and she blacked out. I called 911 ..." She paused, waiting for an answer and I ran my fingers through Sandra's hair and following the shape of the curls not to disturb them. Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up, please wake up ...  
"I came home and she didn't even know who Jess and I were," she sobbed, her breathing ragged as Mr. Muggles scampered over to the stain of milk and starting to lap at the edges of it. "She didn't even remember Mr. Muggles." She tried to push him away but he ignored the effort and came back on her other side to continue, his paws making wet prints around the white. She nodded, hanging up the phone and setting it beside her so it rattled with how shaky her fingers were. She smoothed out the hem of Sandra's sweater before rolling her fingers into the fabric of her pocket.  
"He's coming home now," she filled me in, not lifting her eyes but enough between us to let me know that she was crying still and desperately trying to hold it back. I nodded though she couldn't see it and adjusting Sandra's head in my lap so she would be more comfortable. A sob broke Claire's throat and she buried her face in Sandra's hip to clutch at her and cry, shoulders shaking and nothing within me able to reach out through the small space between us and comfort her. _Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up ..._

__Beep. Beep. Beep. I struggled not to close my eyes and blinked them rapidly so I saw the room in brief snap shots that even together made no sense. The bed. The machines. Sandra. Claire. The Hospital. Put it together and it was a jig saw made by someone who had no knowledge of puzzles and created it with their thoughts on something else. I straightened in the chair so Sandra's fingers shifted through mine and ran my finger back and forth over the knuckle. Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up ...  
"Is my mom going to be okay?" Claire asked and I bit my lip on the answer neither of us wanted before seeing the doctor behind her with her hands in her pockets and face solemn.  
"She's stable," she answered, eyes down on Sandra's face and no expression behind them to comfort or take away from. "When your dad gets here, we can discuss options." I scoffed before I could stop myself so they both looked up and ignored the contrasting expressions I received from both. Please wake up; please wake up ...  
"Options?" Claire asked and speaking past my interruption.  
"Claire, why don't you come sit down?" She offered, ignoring the obvious flaw that she already was and making to lead her to the chairs in the corner of the room. I stood as Claire did and took her offered hand to hold it between my own. "Your mother has a subdural hemorrhage."  
"I got a C minus in biology," Claire apologized, fingers twisting between my hands.  
"It's like a bruise on the brain," I explained as we came to the chairs and they both turned to look at me with raised eyebrows and nearly matching comically disbelieving expressions. "What? I know things." Claire took the chair facing the bed and shifted as close as she could in it to make room for me as I sat in the remaining space, half on top of her. The doctor took the other chair next to us and trying to stop from raising her eyebrows again though it may have just been her go to expression rather than anything we were doing.  
"Well ... your friend is right it is like a bruise on her brain. Specifically the area that controls memory," she folded her hands between her knees and alternated closing and opening them as she spoke. "Has your mother had any recent exposure to radiation?" Claire glanced over at Sandra, lip trembling and biting it to keep back what she really wanted to say. "A history of epilepsy? Claire if this is a result of domestic violence ..."  
"No. No, it's not like that," she glanced down at her hand still entwined with mine and running her fingers over my knuckles. "Not really?"  
"Then what's it like?" The doctor pressed, knowing she'd hit on something and leaning closer to hear what it was. I looked over at Claire, her eyes still lowered and pulling the cuff of her sleeve to cover her hand and mine in the process.  
"You won't believe me," she insisted with a short laugh and how impossible it sounded even in her own head.  
"Anything you say to me will be held in the strictest confidence," the doctor promised and leaning closer, her hands finally still. I almost scoffed again but kept the sound buried in my throat. Still doesn't mean you'll believe us.  
"There's a man," Claire began slowly, looking up to me as if waiting to see if I was still there and would stand beside her. I tightened my hands through hers, nails into my palm and not sure whether they were mine or hers. _Always. _She took a deep breathed and continued: "Who works for my dad. He can make you forget things. Anything, just by touching you with his hands."  
"I'll talk to your father," she said calmly and rose to leave, Claire getting up with her and nearly upsetting me onto the floor in the confusion.  
"Wait, I'm telling you the truth!" She called after her but she was already gone.

I leaned forward on the plastic of the candy machine and scanning the salty treats and candy bars that were consistently interrupted by my reflection looking them over. I rested my head against it as well and felt it shake at the weight of it before reading over the names again and then once more in case I missed any. I tapped my fingers against the frame in a silent eney meeny miny moe before my index finger stopped and instead picking the one next to it. Mom used to say that the trick about it was that once you picked one you realized which one you really wanted. Seemed kind of stupid and pointless but then again I just proved the theory. I hated doing that. I stepped back with my forehead now pink and splotched from resting it and doing an awkward jig to get my change out of my pocket. I pulled several ripped and crumbled bills out of the recesses of the unexplored and tried smoothing out so that they resembled currency and not detention slips – which one of them were. I slid one of them into the slot – the bill not the slip – and pressed the A and the 6 before waiting for it to drop. It didn't. I clicked the buttons again and waited, foot tapping on the tile so that it would hear my impatience and know to hurry up. It didn't.  
"Come on," I said through my teeth and kicked at the metal base. That didn't do it either. Unless the goal was to enact unnecessary pain which unfortunately did work. I bit my tongue to keep back some bad words before saying them all in succession in my head.  
"It's out of order," someone helpfully informed me and I looked up to see a janitor with his cart parked in front of him several feet to my left and a perpetually seeming unamused look on his face.  
"What?" I asked, making sure he was actually talking to me and not the numerous other things around me that may or may not be working.  
"The candy machine. It's out of order. And kicking it won't get it working again," he dug around in something I couldn't see before pulling out an unopened chip back and tossing it on top of the various cleaner bottles and sprays.  
"Then where'd you get that?" I asked, jerking my chin at it and he looked down protectively at it.  
"From home," he said innocently and like it was the obvious answer. I turned back to the machine and pressed the "return money" button but like before received no response.  
"Well ... what about my dollar?" I asked, not sure if I was talking to the machine or man and most likely not going to get a helpful answer from either.  
"Get a job," the man shrugged and I leaned back away from the plastic to glare at him, an answer along the lines of "At least I'm not a janitor" on the tip of my tongue. I settled for kicking the legs of the machine again and watching his eyes narrow in response.  
"Watch yourself," he warned and opening the storage closet beside him and ducking inside. Mocking him in over exaggeration I glanced at the chip bag again before up and down the halls that were for the moment mostly empty and the activity reserved for the rooms. My breathing slowed and that familiar chill ran its fingers down my spine as I walked over and past the cart, grabbing the chip bag as I passed. I continued walking in my triumph, opening up my prize and starting to snack as I manoeuvred down the hall and inspiring one or two confused exclamations as I got too close. For the moment satisfied I turned down another corner and saving enough of the chips so that Claire could have some – and Lyle if behaved himself.  
"You don't just get to say you're sorry and make everything go away." I froze when I heard and recognized the voice and saw Claire at the end of the hall in front of Mr. Bennet and turning so I could see her red eyes and face and the uneasy sound of her trying not to cry. My insides twisted so I couldn't breathe and I rushed up to meet her and entwining my fingers through hers. She barely jumped before whatever logic of my ability sunk in and she let me lead her as her colour washed and she disappeared from the hallway. I weaved around a couple of doctors outside another doorway and led her into an empty bathroom with a buzzing light flickering over the sink. I let go of her hand so she became corporeal again and just as she did everything else coming with it so she collapsed onto the dirtied tile and sobbed into her hands. I knelt in front of her with the chip bag forgotten and she buried her face in my stomach with her hands fisted into my jeans and holding me to her. I wrapped my arms around her so I could press my lips to her hair and murmur soothing things over and over and finding no more comfort saying them then she did hearing them.


	17. 117 Company Man

I tossed my overnight bag onto my bed and was rewarded for the half hearted effort by it rolling off and landing hard on my floor. I reached over to pick it up again and exhibiting a degree of flexibility which pulled several things and one I didn't know I had. I groaned and straightened as I started pulling out the clothes I'd worn and a knick knack of two that mom had brought in hopes of finding out whether I enjoyed them or not and finding out another piece about me. I walked over to set them back on the dresser and froze when I saw the light catch the snow globe resting on the corner and turned it so I could better see what was inside. It was a skating rink lined with ceramic trees and little skaters posed back and forth on top of it with flakes of fake snow strewn on the ground and their shoulders. There was a knob on the ornate side of the pace and I turned it so the springs tightened and it got harder with each adjustment. Losing interest in the effort I stopped and soft music began to play as the skaters rearranged themselves over the ice and turning in mechanical movements. The coil started to slow down and then stopped so they stood in different positions and one of them now facing me with a blank face and leg up behind them to demonstrate their skill at keeping their balance on one foot. I set it back onto the dresser so it clinked before walking back to my bag and tugging out my toothbrush and some change littering the bottom. 25 ... 30 ... 35 ... 50. 50 cents. Well worth the discovery. I shoved them into the bottom of my jean pocket – which was probably no more pleasant – before hearing my phone buzz and reaching over to get it. It was from Claire and the message read in caps lock: Come to my house through my bedroom. Hurry! My heart constricted in my throat and I was out of my room and down the hall with my footsteps loud and violent in my ears.

I tapped as loudly – and as quietly – as I could on Claire's window and waited anxiously with my fingers digging into the tops of the ladder and not sure how long I could keep both myself and it invisible. There was of course always a first time for everything but now was not the time for that first to go wrong. Claire breathlessly appeared on the other side of the window and opened it to grab my arm and pull me in. My foot got stuck on the window sill and I stumbled so she caught me before holding me tightly against her chest as I became corporeal again and only then noticing the blood between her teeth.  
"Oh my God. What happened?" I reached out to touch her lips to pull them away bloody and was sucked back to another time and place where Jackie had whispered that single word between her own bloody lips and the sound of my footsteps answering her farewell.  
"I was shot but that's not all," she quickly explained, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door and her fingers anxiously holding me at the shoulders. I resisted the urge to shake her into speaking and torn on the response of "Oh yes of course it's always such a mundane when I get shot. Have you tried drowning?" but then I wasn't sure if she had actually tried and if I really wanted the answer.  
"There's a man downstairs. Two men but I think one of them left and they're after dad. They're holding us hostage until they get answers from him and they've already shot me to show they're serious. Or at least Ted is. I'm not sure about Matt," she spoke in a rush so I had to wait a minute after she stopped to catch up before looking at the closed door and still confused over what it was shut against.  
"Where's Sandra? And Lyle?" I asked, looking back to her and the half determined half frightened set to her eyes. And Mr. Muggles?  
"They're downstairs," she took a shuddering breath and sniffed painfully, holding either back on tears or screaming and not the time to give into either. "Matt took dad to the paper factory to get information and if they're not back in an hour then Ted will kill mom. Or at least that's what I heard it's been quiet." I nodded, taking it in and rejecting it at the same time so my thoughts spun out as if on a conveyer belt and gone before they could be assembled properly and understood.  
"Okay ... what do we do?" The ultimate question and the one we were both going blank on.  
"I don't know," she shook her head and took another deep breath before letting it out slowly. "Dad told me to stay up here but I can't. Not with what's going on downstairs and I'm sorry but I needed your help and ..."  
"Shh," I murmured soothingly and rubbed her arms as her eyes darted around the room and trying to take comfort in the details whereas I kept seeing it splattered with blood and not sure in my thoughts who it belonged to.  
"Okay," she nodded and focused her eyes on me again so I was momentarily distracted by their shape and color. Not the time! "Let's see what we're up against." She took her hand in mine and we snuck to the doorway and then sunk to her knees so she could ease the door open and we were still hidden in the hallway. There was the sound of rushing air and a pulsing brightness that hurt my eyes as we looked through the rails of the staircase and I saw a man in his late thirties sitting back against the counter with his arms out before him and bursts of light radiating from each hand in turn. I could feel the heat from where we knelt and how it made the air hazy, my throat going dry so I couldn't swallow and my thoughts shredded by panic. Fuck.

"We have to distract him," I whispered as we closed the door behind us and the click of it too loud in my ears and the lowering of my voice not much better. Claire nodded and looked around the room, calculating how and with what to do so and I followed her gaze to look over everything twice and not miss anything that may or not be useful.  
"The ladder," I ran to the window and leaned over to see it still propped against the outside and as if it was impatiently waiting for me to acknowledge it. "I turn us invisible; we climb down the ladder and drop it. We make a noise, he goes to investigate and we sneak in and release Sandra and Lyle." And Mr. Muggles.  
"That's really smart," she said after a moment, eyes widened with surprise and if the moment had called for it I would have felt mildly offended.  
"I have my moments," I shrugged. They were few and far between but still worth acknowledgement when I put in the effort. Which was even rarer.  
"You go first," I gestured for her and standing back to allow her room.  
"I can't be killed you first," she pointed and stepping back to tuck her hands into her pockets and visibly show her refusal. Not the time to argue I swung my leg over the sill before climbing down as fast as I could and wondering how suspicious it would look if someone were to walk by. Too late I realized I should have made me and the ladder invisible again but with Claire now climbing down after me I wasn't willing to test if I could cover all three of us at once and not comfortable with what would happen if I tried and couldn't. My feet touched the grass and I reached up to lay my hands on Claire's hips to help her down before pulling back the ladder and lying it carefully down on the lawn. I knelt to the edge of the garden to pick up a rock half buried to create the illusion of some security around the flowers though I'd done more than my fair share of accidentally stepping on them regardless. I weighed the rock in my hand for a moment before turning to look over my shoulder at Claire.  
"Sorry." And I threw the rock as hard as I could against the window so it hit the glass and shattered. We both ducked at the sound and instantly starting sneaking around the side of the house to the back and in the process crushing the rest of the flowers while their stone barriers did nothing to save them. I held Claire back for a moment as I let my breathing slow and the cold creep down my back before I looked through the blinds over the inside of the window. I could barely see the shape of the man – Ted – walking up the stairs and Sandra and Lyle bound and silent on the couch. I took Claire's hand so her features faded as well and carefully opened the door and painfully aware of how loud it was. Sandra and Lyle both looked up as I left the door open – I wasn't falling for that again – and reached for the knife in the block of wood on the island and crept as quietly as I could towards them.  
"Hello?" Sandra asked nervously and as I got closer I saw how unkempt her curls were and the tear filled redness of her eyes. I felt hatred for that man – Ted – turn my insides inside out before realizing how confusing it must have looked with the knife moving on its own and dropped my hand from Claire's so our features re-detailed.  
"Shh," I said on instinct when we could be seen again and Sandra painfully gasped upon seeing Claire behind me and I had to hold back on the bitter remark that I was here too.  
"Claire. Thank you, God," a tear rolled down her cheek and I knelt in front of her to start cutting through the tape that was binding her wrists and peeling it off as quickly but carefully as I could. "I prayed so hard." She pulled Claire into her arms and I turned to work on Lyle's but took note of how pale his face was in contrast to his red eyes and quickly kissed his forehead in attempted comfort before working the knife through the binds.  
"It's okay. It's going to be okay," I mumbled as I finally got him free and the sound of footsteps sudden on the floor above us.  
"Go! Hurry. Run," Sandra urged and I pushed them out in front of me to the open door before the footsteps were right on top of me and I was yanked back so hard that for a moment my vision went dark.  
"Jessica!" I couldn't tell who screamed but there was an arm around my throat that tightened and my shoes scrambled against the floor in an attempt to keep my footing.  
"Run," I gasped as the arm pressed harder and I could faintly see shapes moving around in front of me and not enough distinction to tell me who was who.  
"Don't move or she dies!" The man holding me yelled and loosened his grip enough that I could see but still keeping me steady against him. Claire and Sandra were frozen on the other side of the living room trembling and even from where I stood I could see the tears rolling down Claire's cheeks and like Sandra never stopped.  
"Let her go," Sandra begged, holding onto Claire's arm and trying to hold steady. Claire was having trouble standing properly and I could barely see the color through her tear filled eyes. I pulled at his arm again but instead of him loosening it he tightened it even further and the twin shapes of them faded and blurred in front of my eyes.  
"Run."

The sound of the tape ripping made me cringe as he wrapped the length around the three of us and binding us closer together so Claire's shoulder was in my breast and Sandra's elbow in my side. Considering that we were about to die though I was willing to let it slide.  
"You should have run," I mumbled, my head still hazy from the nearly being strangled and I resisted the urge to lay it back onto Claire's shoulder and calling it a day.  
"We weren't going to leave you," Claire insisted, turning to address me but at such an angle that I could only see the side of her face. "That's not what family does." Instead of being comforting the words twisted a knife into my gut and I remembered all the times I had run from those I loved/loved me and how in my finest hour I had run from a friend who was being carved up in front of me.  
"You were dead," Sandra said quietly in disbelief, her curls ticking against the back of my neck as she tried to look at Claire. "You were invisible." She turned again but I avoided the look. "How ...?"  
"Your husband did this to them," the man – Ted! – said as he made a turn around as again with more of the tape and the weight of it fixing my arm into an awkward position. "To all of us."  
"I don't understand ...," Sandra looked back and forth to try and make eye contact with us but I only felt the hopelessness of the attempt and stared down at my feet so we all shifted slightly. "God makes ..."  
"God had nothing to do with this," Ted and I said almost at the same time though while his was said with anger and accusation mine was quieter with resignation.  
"I walked through fire and I didn't get burned," Sandra remembered and I was taken back to that dinner and how simple it had seemed and now I craved it so badly like I could crawl inside the memory and never again be reminded of blood splattering and a single word that showed how selfish I really was. "You were trying to tell me."  
"I was trying _not_ to tell you," Claire confessed and I felt her sagging against the tape so we were all turned another way.  
"All this forgetting ... why I was in the hospital ... you think your father did that to me?" Sandra asked, putting the pieces together and everything in me wanting to deny it and keep her little world perfect and safe so she would never question and never fear and have to endure what Claire and I'd gone through.

"I know he did. He was trying to protect us," Claire coldly answered and I thought of the look in his eyes when he found me sobbing in the park and then the one that came after when he told me to keep silent and thinking it would all be erased and I'd never have cause to fear again. It clashed with another memory – the one seen through the eyes of a grief stricken eight year old where he knelt in front of me with his jacket over my shoulders and asked if I wanted to meet his daughter Claire.  
"...God gave you a second chance," Sandra was saying and in my own ears the words came out more bitter then she meant them. "Find it in your heart to give your father one too."  
"I'm curious about something," Ted said conversationally and in the corner of my eye I could see him sitting on the stool by the counter with surprising ease and an almost a casual curiosity. "Did Parkman know when he shot you that you wouldn't die? Did your dad tell him that?"  
"I don't know," Claire said wearily and I tried to ease my arm out enough to take her hand but was held back by five layers of tape.  
"That explains why they were so chummy when they came down the stairs," Ted surmised, putting the pieces together as Sandra did but with less sympathy from me as a result. "What do you suppose they're up to?"  
"Getting chili fries and gabbing about boys," I suggested dully. I heard his footsteps come around to face me, his head tilted to the side as he took me in and from the expression on his face not liking what he saw.  
"I don't like you," he said simply, straightening and not the least bit apologetic for the opinion.  
"Ditto," I tried to smile at him but even bitter it didn't come off but interrupted by doors closing outside. I tried to turn to see the door but could only glimpse half of it with Claire's profile blocking the other side. The side that I could see opened and Mr. Bennet and the cop – Parkman or something – came in with a thick folder in Mr. Bennet's hands. The air in front of them went hazy and I could faintly smell the scent of something burning.  
"Am I still in control, Mr. Bennet?" Ted asked and I leaned forward as far as I could go to see him better which upset the balance of the three of us and Claire and Sandra to briefly cry out.  
"You're still in control, Ted," Mr. Bennet said cautiously and for a moment his attention flickered to the three of us and looking surprised to see me as if wondering when I had got there. I was able to lift my hand an inch off my leg and gave a brief wave.  
"No tricks," he continued, recovering himself. "Just what you asked for – the truth." He opened the folder to show a disc inside and his fingers closed over it to keep it from falling out.  
"We have what we want, Ted," Parkman assured him, looking more uneasy then if that was really the case. "We have the proof."  
"Then why the theatrics with shooting the girl who can't die?" Ted demanded, head titling from side to side with his words and the veins tightening up the back of his neck.  
"Well it's better than shooting one who can," Matt explained with the easy logic. "We didn't come here to hurt anybody." And that worked out quiet well.  
"If the people that I work for found out that I've shown this to you, they will kill you," Mr. Bennet said, closing the folder and holding it to his chest like it was his personal salvation. "Since I'm risking my own life, I'd rather not risk my family's."  
"Do you want revenge or do you want the truth?" Parkman asked, leaning forward with his plea and a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. "You can't have both." Ted considered for a moment and I heard the rushing of air from his hands flicker back and forth with intensity and tried to wriggle loose from the tape that only seemed to twist and get tighter.  
"I want the truth," he said finally, his voice lowering as the sentence continued until the last word came out too pronounced.  
"Then let them go," Parkman pleaded and Ted lowered his hands so the sound and light of them faded and I found I could breathe again without the taste of burning. The back door opened and I whipped around to follow the sound so we again all shifted and could see the Haitian walking through the doorway with his familiar long coat and solemn expression on his face.  
"Get them out of here," Mr. Bennet ordered, his voice breaking with barely disguised panic.  
"What is he doing here?" Ted asked, his voice curious but hardened over the threat to it.  
"Just making sure my family's safe, that's all," Mr. Bennet explained calmly and the Haitian knelt in front of me to start working at the binds. My arms loosened and dropped heavily to my sides as I could finally stand and rubbed my wrists where the skin had gone raw.  
"Go, go, go," he said almost patiently and urged us to the open doorway. Mr. Muggles came out from wherever he'd been hiding and whined so I knelt and gathered him into my arms so his nose buried into my shoulder and licked at my neck.  
"No, you stay. They go," Ted said and I spun to see who he was speaking to and his hand out and pressed to Mr. Bennet holding him back. Terror cut apart my stomach and I saw him kneeling in front of eight year old me again with the kindly smile and question if I wanted to meet his daughter. He noticed me pausing and sadly smiled light from somewhere glinting off his glasses and making his eyes look like they were filled with tears. "It's alright" he mouthed but my legs wouldn't move and I wanted to claw my way back to him and keep him safe where no one could touch him.  
"No," I started to move after him, dropping Mr. Muggles from my arms as he ran to where Sandra waited and the Haitian stepping forward to stop me.  
"It's time to go," he told me patiently but I kept repeating that memory and that kindness in his eyes and a self hatred that I didn't remember it when it mattered most and held everything else against me. He loved me. He protected me. And I threw it back at him like it was his fault.  
"Jessie go," Noah urged and the Haitian bent to wrap his arms around my legs and hoisted my up over his shoulder to carry me out the door.  
"No!" I screamed and clawed at him as he got smaller and smaller and it was chaos in my head of the past and present and my father standing a ways away from me with that same sad smile and assurance that it was alright before there was gunfire and blood dripping from his lips. Not him. Not Noah. Not this father. Not again.  
"Let me go! Stop! Dad!" I was screaming and I couldn't breath as I fought him and not sure which dad I was screaming for and which salvation I demanded.

The Haitian put me down with his hands still out to stop me from running and my fingers slipped and fell from his arms as I strained everything I had for any sound or hint that was going on inside and reminded too much of the past and how harsh it forced its way into the present. Gunfire shattered through my confusion and for a moment I was there again – on that bridge with the jacket around me and my dad falling to the concrete as I screamed and screamed. The insides of the windows turned white and I felt a heat wave force me back that made my eyes water and sweat bead down my back. Two figures came around the side of the house and I fought against the arms that held me to see them but the Haitian was prepared and stopped me though Claire took advantage of the distraction and ran past. I scanned the faces for recognition and hated that I couldn't and that they weren't the right one. Claire stopped in front of them for a second before she was off again and back into the house.  
"Claire!" I screamed and I tasted blood with how harshly the name tore at my throat and the Haitian nearly lifted me from the ground with his efforts to hold me back. The house was pulsing now with light and I could almost see the walls starting to tremble with the weight of holding it in and I saw a thousand memories in a rush to be seen and not forgotten force their way onto me and almost bringing me to my knees: making forts in Claire's room, eating breakfast for dinner, watching cartoon in Noah and Sandra's room, waking up to Mr. Muggle kisses, teasing Lyle about girls and getting teased in return about boys ... It was too much and they were burning in my hands. Coughing came around the roaring of the radiation and I saw Noah and Parkman coming around the side with their arms over their mouths and struggling to breathe. But not Claire. Where was Claire? Sandra rushed over to greet Noah, pulling him close to her chest and my legs went weak with relief that he was okay and panic that Claire may not be. Yelling echoed inside the house and I heard my name over top of the sound:  
"Jess!" I almost made for the house again thinking that that was where it came from but instead looked behind me to see mom running up the lawn with the rest of the neighbourhood and terror on her face. I stumbled towards her to bury my face in her chest and she swept my hair away from my cheeks and forward to hold me and rocking me as she did. Light still flashed in the corners of my vision and I turned enough to see the house again and the crowd of people standing to watch. Mr. Muggles was barking and the doors tore off the front of the house and came towards us, twisting in the air. Without thinking I pulled myself from moms arms and felt all the adrenaline and anger at once in a burst that ricocheted the wood off it and disintegrating as it touched. I heard several people sharply intact and found it odd that it surprised them when a full on radioactive meltdown was happening in front of our eyes. The rest of the front of the house blew apart in wood and glass and then it was quiet.

"Claire!" Noah yelled and her name came like a mantra to my lips that I couldn't say aloud. My eyes strained to take in the ruin of the house and I could see everything – every memory from the moment I met her to the moment she tore into the house. I was paralyzed and only able to murmur her name once more before my mind went blank in a grief that I wasn't even sure was justified. But then something moved. A shape from what used to be the door all in black and seared like it had been burned inside out and crisped into hard ashes. I stared at it as the details came back and a blond strand fell over her shoulders.  
"Claire," I was off and across the lawn stumbling until I was in front of her and to see her healing as if remembering what she looked like and going off memory to replace it. I reached out an arm to touch her and my fingers came away covered in ash before her arms healed over and was skin again. I choked on my breath and threw myself into her arms so she buried her face in my hair and I could taste ash before it faded and it was Claire over and over. But then I realized she was naked and got a little uncomfortable. Someone cleared their throat and I looked up behind me to see Noah holding out his jacket to me to give to her. I took it from him carefully – that same memory back where it belonged in a fond place – before wrapping it around her and covering her from the crowd still watching in silent shock. But then he was there holding us and then Sandra and Lyle and Mr. Muggles and we were all clinging to each other with the heat and the ash still burning my senses but the weight of all of them together holding it back. I managed to get my head out from Claire's shoulder to look back at my mom and saw her standing so far away with us with shock on her face and something that almost like tears in her eyes and running down her cheeks.

Claire ran her fingers through my hair as her lap vibrated underneath my head and the wheels of the car under that. I could see the dashboard at an odd angle from where I lay and Noah's arm up on the steering wheel and framed by the two front seats. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath that didn't quite fill my lungs and feeling the emptiness at the corners of me that it didn't cover. I could see my dad and the panic on his face as the police surrounded us and his arms covering me as he turned to keep me from their aim but their force in a circle so nowhere was safe. I could feel the weight of Noah's eyes on my face as he asked if I was alright and put his jacket around my shoulders so it kissed the ground. I could hear my mom screaming and the tears and the pressure in the house that made me tears at my hair and skin in an attempt to release the grief that was tearing me apart from the inside. I tightened my fingers on Claire's knee and felt her fingers go slower through my hair like she was savoring it and I was savoring the feel in place of better things that were best left forgotten.

Claire opened the door before me as the car stopped and reached back to take my hand and hold it close in front of her as we walked around the car and to the other side where the Haitian was leaning against the rail and the great drop over the edge visible at his back.  
"What's ...?" I couldn't finish the question as I tried to make sense of it and why we were here where déjà vu pressed on me from all sides and making me dizzy at the weight. Noah turned and his eyes were sad.  
"This is goodbye," he said breathlessly and I saw the Haitian reach into his jacket and pull out a gun. My heart fractured at the sight of it and it was only Claire's hand that kept me falling to my knees and screaming.  
"You ... you don't have to do this," Claire begged, seeing it as I did and her voice breaking as mine couldn't. "There's gotta be a better way."  
"This is the best way," the Haitian explained and I hated him for how calm and calculated he was and how he spoke like he was speaking a simple problem to children who couldn't grasp the concept. "There can't be any doubt cast on your father." Noah tried to smile at us and I saw the great pains it took him to attempt it.  
"Right here," he gestured to his side and held back his coat to make the path cleaner. "Two inches higher and I'm dead." He looked to us and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Claire ... Jess, turn around. Cover your ears." The wind pulled at his coat and hair and I tried to frame the image of him so I'd remember it as it was and not of everything else I'd let taint it. All he did and all I repaid him for. I slowly turned to walk away from him and with Claire so she could bury her face in my chest and I could awkwardly hold her and press my hands over my ears. The gunshot and his yell broke me and Claire tore from my arms and back to him where he lay against the rail and blood blossoming in his side. Beside him I could see my dad on the ground and the reassuring smile on his lips as blood dripped down and he reached to touch my face with his words that he loved me and the unbearable silence that pressed down after. But this was different. There was no silence. No ending of the moment to lead on to the next. It kept going and it didn't stop and I was helpless to keep up with it. It was dragging me down and running over me as it went. I choked back a sob as Claire threw herself into his arms to hold him as he gasped in pain and did his best to hold her back.  
"Go deep," he panted, chest heaving in pain and his shoulders constricting with it. "Take anything that could lead to them. Either of them." He looked at me over her shoulder and I could see her hair blowing across it and making it softer than its ears. I heard her voice break as she said something then his reply as she reluctantly pulled away. Blood was now faded to her hip as she stepped back and I stared at him so the past and present clashed and it was my dad and now him and the silence and the grunting of pain as blood covered both and it was Jackie telling me to run as her forehead came apart.  
"Jessie?" He asked and that was all it took and I was in his arms so he gasped in pain and bit into the collar of his coat to keep from sobbing but nonetheless struggling to breathe as I saw his him sitting me at the table to teach me about math, sitting me and Claire down to tell us about the birds and the bees, the wake ups for school before we learned our lesson, the driving home at the end of the day and the look in his eyes when he found me and promised me that he'd take care of it and that everything would be alright.  
"I love you dad," I choked and raised my head so I could breathe and see the vastness of the mountains behind him and how small and insignificant the words seemed when they were so much bigger then I was. Then I could ever be and understand and yet there pulling me apart to make room.  
"I love you too," he gasped, blood pressing to my side so I knew I'd be marked with it when I stood like before when I'd covered my dad's body with my own to protect it and was dragged away soaked with red so it dripped after my footsteps. "So much." A hand came down on my shoulder to pull me back and I loosened my arms to let go and stand back so he became smaller and smaller and my sobs more painful as the Haitian pressed his hands down over Noah's eyes and I collapsed with my insides coming apart and burying me beneath them.


	18. 118 Parasite

The wheels of the car bumped underneath me and I slowly opened my eyes to be welcome by the hot pressing of sunlight against my eyeballs. I blinked and then squinted against it, the seat belt twisted around my stomach and my legs cramped from pulling them up beside me in an attempt. Though considering I just woke up it must have worked at least somewhat. A truck roared past so the shadows came in through the windows and I struggled against a yawn as I crossed my arms over my chest and settled back into the seat and the nauseating blur of the last few hours that assaulted me every moment I was awake. Being taken hostage, the explosion, having to say goodbye to mom with the lie acrid on my tongue, the bridge, the shooting and the hours and hours of driving that followed that Claire and I endured in silence with nothing that could be said to make it better and everything we thought making it worse. The car pulled into a dusty gas station and I closed my eyes again just as the Haitian turned around in his seat to check on me.  
"You have not said anything all day," he commented and I was just about to answer with "Yeah because I'm pretending to sleep you moron" before taking the hint that he wasn't talking to me.  
"I thought you'd prefer it," Claire dully answered and I heard the fabric of her seat scratch as she shrugged. "It's not like you're going to tell either of us where we're going."  
"As soon as I know where we're going, I will tell you both," he said in that annoying calm way of his so I considered dropping the illusion of sleep to give him the finger.  
"When can I go back to my family?" She asked and her voice trembled on the plea.  
"Should I lie to you, and say it will be soon?" He wondered. Yes. Lie to her. Lie to us and say it'll be okay and that we'll be happy and safe again and that all of this is just the road to get us to that place and not the destination. But I didn't ask so he didn't lie. "You know what we run from."  
"Yeah, the people you and my dad work for," she answered, her voice tight with anger that hardened the grief.  
"What they will do, not even you can recover from," he warned before his seat shifted and I could feel him looking back. I evened my breathing out to keep up that I was sleeping those as he waited I could tell he didn't believe me and we were holding out until the other blinked. "Either of you." Claire turned back as well and I had to fight back a smile in knowing she was watching me.  
"Great. Thanks dad," Claire said with a bitter scoff and turning back to face the front. I dared to open my eyes for a second and could see her silhouette painted awkwardly across the dashboard.  
"You cannot understand the level of sacrifice he made so the two of you could live," the Haitian said and at the sound of his voice I closed my eyes again and dramatized a sleepy sigh. Say what you want of me I was prone to the theatrics. "You must honor that." The door opened and the roaring of the highway grew louder as he got out of the car, grunting somewhat as his feet touched the pavement. I opened my eyes as Claire did the same and standing on the edge of the doorway and looking out over everything as if she were seeing everything I couldn't see and nothing at the same time. I discretely unbuckled my seatbelt and evened out my breathing so the chill rolled down my spine and erased my details one after the other. The weightlessness that came with it released everything that had been keeping me grounded and like in the moment they weren't part of the picture and only added in the sides for an afterthought. I crawled between the two front seats and edged out behind Claire as quietly as I could before making my way past the edges of the gravel and onto the dust filled fields that lined either side of the highway.

I wasn't sure where I was going. When you run away you usually never have a destination in mind and it's not until you've made the first step that you forget there's supposed to be a second one. I crossed my arms protectively over my chest and let my breath out slowly as my throat dried and the sun beat a heavy heat on the back of my head. I should have thought to pack a hat. Or some sunscreen. Or another method of transport. But I had been a little short on room and they don't have collapsible cars. As far as I knew. A truck barrelled down beside me and a gust of wind flattened against my backs and legs and I braced myself to keep from falling forward and making a skeptical to the passing vehicles. Not that they'd care. Why should they? Or me for that matter. I was nobody. A sixteen year old girl of basic attractiveness with more detention slips then honors who was for some reason deemed important enough that even that should be taken away. Something caught in my throat and I tried to swallow it down but it broke in the effort and brought tears in my eyes. I rubbed my sleeve over my eyes which only managed to get dust into them and took another breath of the dry heated air and scanning over the passing cars and the faces sitting by the windows of them. What would it be like to be one of them? Trade places and nix the waiver so neither of us knew a difference. Would I be content? Smarter, prettier, more inclined to behave and actually do something with my life instead of seeing how far I could run it out? Or was it wishful thinking to presume I could be better as someone else? Even if it wasn't I wouldn't wish my life on anyway. Though maybe they'd do a better job of it then I did. I kicked at a rock and had it roll to an angle I didn't aim for and settle into a hunk of grass. Great ... even rocks hated me.  
"Jess!" I turned around on my ankle so it imprinted in the dirt and saw Claire running up behind me with the car parked to the side and the Haitian standing by the driver's seat with the sunlight gleaming darkly off the top of his shaved head. This was probably the part where I should probably run but I couldn't make my legs move again and only waited for her to catch up and for the inevitable convincing that would follow and no idea how I would even respond to that.  
"Jess," she came to a stop in front of me panting and reached out a hand to my shoulder. "Jess what's wrong?" I took a step back so her fingers fumbled and I watched almost in slow motion how she tried to keep that grip on me and how far it seemed when only it was an inch or two before she found my arm again.

"I don't know," I answered, my voice distant and unusual and I was struck by how it was the most honest thing I could ever remember saying. _I don't know. _Maybe that's why it sounded so different – so unlike mine. "I don't know." She waited for a moment as I took in the background behind her and how large everything seemed so I looked so little in comparison. I was so tiny. And the world was so big. How did it get so big?  
"I hated cheerleading," I said without warning and startling myself with the expression. Her eyebrows raised with her own confusion and she slowly nodded to show she supported it but not exactly sure why. I turned to look at the cars passing and counted how many of each color I saw: red, 2; blue, 4; yellow, 2; whoops another red.  
"I always hated it." It was back. The voice that might have been mine saying the things that didn't make sense and yet seemed like they were forever buried and coming up where it was no longer dark and not sure what to do with the light. "The cheers and the moves. The outfits and the attitude and how they all sat in a group wearing the same uniform day after day. I hated it." Another yellow car passed and I added it to my tally.  
"Okay," she said slowly, not understanding but afraid to say so and startle me into something that she was more terrified to see. Another red car passed. 4.  
"Jackie died in her uniform," I said finally, the red dissolving and growing sticky so it was over eyes and then lips and I wasn't sure if it was her that I was seeing or my father: their last words overlapping each other so the message sounded the same and screaming at me to obey theirs first. Run. I love you. "Sylar came to the school and killed her in her uniform. And then he came to my house after." There. I said it. That big secret I had about the serial killer in my bedroom and the disappointment that he hadn't killed me that I crushed under false relief.  
"What?" She reached out for me again and this time I didn't feel it and relied on sight to tell me it was there.  
"He came to my house to kill me but in the end let me go. He said he liked me and he hoped we'd meet again." His voice echoed over mine as I said it so I could almost imagine him standing in front of me again with his fingers touching over my bruise. "He let me go and ... and I was disappointed. He let me live and ... I didn't want him too. I wanted him to kill me. I welcomed it and then he didn't and ..." How did he – a serial killer – define that I was worthy to live when I didn't see it myself? Where did that inner sense of survival go? How long had it been gone? And why didn't I notice and try to call it back.  
"Jessie ...," she came closer to me and I was aware of how close her face was and how the wind tousled her hair, for the first time not wanting to push it back and wondering where that desire had gone and what had happened to make it go away.  
"I hated cheerleading," I whispered it so she almost couldn't hear and knowing it wouldn't matter if she did. I hated cheerleading. I hated Jackie. I hated her brother. I hated Sylar. I hated my mom for neglecting me and for my dad dying in my arms. I hated Sandra for not being here and Lyle for being who he was and Noah for sacrificing himself rather than coming with us instead. I hated the Haitian. I hated Claire. I hated Mr. Muggles. I hated ... I hated myself. So much. And I didn't care.  
"Jess," she pulled me closer to her and I let her as I saw the Haitian behind her and his calm expression watching us but not interfering or moving to interrupt. I cautiously raised my arms to her back and seeing but not believing everything I saw behind him as it was replaced with something else. A searing of flesh, a scream, running footsteps and a voice and smile that was crooked on one side: _What's your name?_ Peter.

"Vivian Lewis?" Claire demanded, staring down at her identification and her face giving voice to her thoughts even if her words hadn't. "My name is Vivian, and I'm from Canada? Are you kidding me?"  
"At least you're name isn't Betsy," I dully soothed while looking down at my own and the typed up format which had more confidence in the lie then I knew I did. Betsy Lewis. Age 16. Likes piña colada's and getting caught in the rain.  
"I do not need you happy. Only safe," he said as a way of an answer and I held back on saying "Well then you're doing your job well" as the escalator came to the bottom and we stepped off with a rush at our back and swirling at our front. I looked over all the people moving through their routine and waiting for one to look at me so I could make a face and scare them off and be satisfied about something instead of standing still and feeling like I was faded.  
"...There's nothing left for you here. No one to trust," The Haitian was saying like I'd come into the conversation half way through and I slowly turned to face him with the name so hot on my tongue he saw it on my face and instantly shook his head.  
"No, you cannot see him again," he said forcibly like that settled matters and I'd leave it alone where it stood.  
"Why not? I trust him. We can hide in New York with him and we'll be safe," I protested, not knowing if it was true but enough belief in the words that I didn't call them back or have the thought to even if I could.  
"He's not in a position to be responsible for anyone," he said, enough anger under the calm to finally convince him that he was actually human and that I take up the position of defeat. "Come." I nodded to show I understood and let him brush past me so I could reach for his jacket and the boarding pass he had tucked into his pocket. I slid it underneath mine so it looked like one and moved to step forward first for them to check it and then walk through the detector. I turned back as I stopped to watch Claire as she did the same and could remember when I first met her and how the two of them appeared to stand next to each other for comparison. Her chubby cheeks and braids and the gap toothed smile as she told me her name and held out her hand for me to take. I loved her then and I loved her now. And tomorrow and the day after and the day after and after. I smiled sadly as she stepped through the detector to look up at the frame and let the image of her face calm me so I knew the familiar cold and the lightness to my skin. Someone took a harsh intake as I vanished before I saw the look of confusion on the Haitian and Claire's face and took it with me as I turned to go.

I resisted the urge to sigh as I played with the slip of the address between my fingers and bring alert to the paying passenger next to me who was directing the cab driver through traffic and becoming frustrated when he got it wrong. He fell back in his seat swearing under his breath and I gave him the finger as the driver nervously looked in the rear view mirror and uncomfortable with the slur the man used. I read the address over again and looked out the window at the passing traffic and the steam that billowed from nowhere coming out in bursts onto the sidewalk. New York City. NYC. The big apple ... for some reason. My first time here and it was to track down a man I'd met twice who I trusted now more than others I had known for years and putting faith that he could help me. Or at the very least not slam his door on my face and leave me stranded and penniless in Manhattan. Although ... I looked to the man beside me again and the wallet strewn by his brief case as he continued to mutter and tap his fingers to the glass. I carefully slipped it closer to me as it went invisible as well and opened it to count out the bills inside and to see they were all hundreds. Jackpot. I glanced at him one more time before pulling out one or two before hearing him repeat the slur again and cleaned him out in retribution for the driver. The car finally slowed and stopped and I put his wallet back where it belonged and crawled out through the door he opened as the man ranted about not deserving the fare and closing the door behind him and walking away in agreement of the fact. I stepped around to the driver's side door where the window was slightly cracked and leaved out three bills and slid them through the opening. He looked down at them in surprise before grinning and the sight of it almost more fulfilling then the one of outrage when the man found his wallet emptied. Almost.

My footsteps echoed in the darkened hall and I checked the slip again in the faded light and repeating it under my breath to make sure I had the right one. I turned around a corner to yet another hall and stopped at the end of it where the addresses matched. I took a deep breath and hesitated with my fist half raised. What if it was the wrong address? What if it was the right one and he wasn't there? Or worse wanted nothing to do with me and sending me on my way. Where would I go? Who would I turn to? The Haitian must have found a way to track me by now and if he didn't others would and I would be in a worse place then I started and with less chance of escaping it. Did I care? A little. Enough that I crossed my fingers so the knock was uncomfortable and that I held my breath until it opened. A middle aged woman stood in the doorway waiting for me with an expensive looking black coat and a solemn expression that made me think of the cold and sent a shiver down my spine.  
"I'm sorry. I hope I have the right address. I'm looking for Peter Petrelli," I squinted at the paper and then her as she looked me slowly up and down like she'd seen me before and was trying to remember all the details.  
"You picked a terrible time to do that, Jessica," she said with a sigh and I started when I heard my name so familiar on her lips. "Peter's not here right now but you might as well come in." She stepped back to admit me and I cautiously walked past her and only getting a bare glimpse of the room from the dimmed lights and features that seemed dark by design.  
"I don't understand ... how do you know my name?" I asked, turning to face her as she closed the door and clasped her wrinkled hands in front of her politely.  
"I'm Peter's mother, Angela," she answered and I took the moment to be surprised that he had been born from her and for all appearances turned out better. "The Haitian called to tell me you'd run off and that I was to keep an eye out. Two girls he was supposed to protect and now he's only got one."  
"Claire is ...," I stepped forward with the question and she nodded to answer it before voicing it as well.  
"Claire is fine. Worried about you but that thought didn't seem to enter your mind and here you are," she tried to smile as if it was expected of her to do so and I found little brunt from the harshness. It seemed to come with the look and I could almost piece together her personality from it alone. She looked me up and down again and I felt uncomfortable under the look like she was now examining me for flaws and finding more than should be required.  
"You look so much like your father," she said and her smile which had been cold became warm and almost sad and I took a confused step back and was met by the wall that stopped me and held me in place.


	19. 119 007

I ran my fingers over the decorated frame of the picture and the two man standing inside of it wearing tuxedos and smiles on their faces. The older man – Nathan – and the man beside him with his crooked smile. Peter.  
"My two boys getting along for once," Angela said as if from behind me she could see what picture I was holding. "Nathans wedding." They were handsome the two of them. Something I presumed was inherited from the father.  
"He has two boys of his own now – Claire's half brothers," she continued as I set the frame back down on the mantle and running my fingers over the wood that held a dozen or so more of them all with ornate frames and smiles on their faces. "And that handsome man is Peter. But you've already met him now, haven't you?" She dared me to deny it and I ignored the taunt as I read my reflection over their faces in the picture and seeing the similarity between the two but unable to pinpoint what it was. Claire's dad. Claire's Uncle. Awkward.  
"You said you knew my dad," I said, turning around to face her and the exaggerated living room with the fire roaring in the fireplace. She tapped her long nails against one another as if deciding whether to indulge me in an answer or not.  
"I did," she finally said and walked over to one of the fancier couches – that undoubtedly wasn't called a couch but the closet name I could come up with – and sitting down with her legs modestly crossed. "A long time ago." That was impossible, I thought and trying to think of any time he might have mentioned it or her and coming up blank and both accounts. But then again so was being invisible and we all knew – okay, I did – how that worked out.  
"What was he like?" I walked over to the other couch and carefully sat on the edge before she visibly stiffened at the sight of me sitting on it like I was covered in dirty and would only stain it. Responding to it I scrunched myself back extravagantly with my legs crossed onto the table and burrowing myself into the cushions so I was sure to leave a mark. Ha.  
"He was ... an interesting man," she said after a moment of shock from my position and finding it easier to ignore it then protest. "Not one that everyone could get along with but pleasant enough when he wanted to be." I slowly nodded but found myself lost on the description and my eight years of memories that didn't fit as it should have.  
"He loved you very much though," she said as if it was an excuse and her head titled for my response. "He talked of you constantly and how wonderful and beautiful his daughter was. I honestly can't say which of those two were more honest." From anyone else it would have been a compliment but the way her eyes travelled again over me again as if searching suggested it wasn't. I leaned over for the crystal bowl in the middle of the table for a handful of chocolate covered something and began to loudly chew them – almonds apparently – and wondering if it was a step too far for me to wipe my hands on the cushions as well.  
"Where's Peter?" I asked, my mouth full and the chocolate darker than I expected so I wished I could ask for a glass of water but feeling I burnt that bridge with my improper sitting.  
"He'll be back soon," she said simply and making herself more comfortable but with more grace then me – though in my defense I hadn't tried. "But you won't be here for that I'm taking you to Paris."  
"Paris?" I asked, choking on one of the candies and fiddling the last two behind my fingers and wondering which I had a better chance of hitting: the bowl or her square in the forehead.  
"Yes, that's where Claire is and where you should be too," she nodded, saying it slowly like I was too stupid to understand though I wasn't giving off too much of an impression to suggest otherwise. I swallowed my mouthful, looking around the faded color of the room and photographs and finding myself uncomfortable with how pristine it was and how blackened and shrivelled I must look in the middle of it. Wonders for my self esteem.  
"What if I don't want to go to Paris?" I asked carefully and putting the last two candies back into the bowl which caused a sharper reaction then when I took them in the first place.

"I'm afraid that that's no longer in your control," she said, the words like an apology but her voice contradicting it. "If you had done what you were told then maybe things would have gone better for you. But you disobeyed and this is the result."  
"So you're my punishment?" I wondered which caused her eyes to narrow and her cheeks further wrinkle. I reached back for the bowl to pop another one in my mouth and almost smiled.  
"Just like your father," she said, under her breath and stood up to leave me alone in the room so I could take the bowl and place it firmly in my lap.

"How are you? Are you okay? Are you safe?" Claire's words tripped over one another so fast that it took me a second to hear the first one before I realized she'd already asked the second and third.  
"I'm fine. Yes, I'm okay and yes I am safe. I ate too much chocolate and I stole five hundred dollars but yeah I'm awesome," I fell back on the bed that Angela had directed me too and stared at the pattern of the ceilings tiles in an attempt to familiarize myself with them and maybe feel a little more in place when so far I was a puzzle piece that had its edges cut off so I didn't fit.  
"What?" She asked, static crackling and distorting her words somewhat so I couldn't tell if it was confusion or laughter I was hearing.  
"Nothing. So how are you?" I asked, side stepping the explanation and twining my fingers through my hair that had fallen back over the bed spread. I could barely see myself in the reflection of the mirror over the bed and how strange I looked at this angle though the others not one to brag.  
"Fine. The plane ride was quiet and now it's just me and the Haitian. Where did you go? Why didn't you take me with you?" Her voice faltered on the hurt and I dug my fingers into the phone at the sound of it and knowledge that I caused it.  
"I had to find Peter," I said, hearing how poor it sounded even to myself and sitting up on the edge. The sudden movement made my head swim and I put my hand on the pillow to keep from falling back. My hand sank however and left a print into it which slowly faded as I pulled back. "And I wanted you safe."  
"I don't care about safe," she insisted passionately and making me pull back from the phone with how loud her voice became. "I care about you. Why didn't you take me too?" Silence prickled down my arms and legs after the question and I found myself at a blank of what to say or even why. Because I love you and I wanted you safe. Because I needed to do this for myself. Because you wouldn't understand. Because all my life I've been your shadow and once I wanted to step outside of it to see things for myself. But the last one seemed harsh even to me so I kept the rest of them unsaid in respect for it.  
"Right," she said, waiting for me to fill the silence and disappointed that I hadn't. "Tell me how it goes with your boyfriend when you get back."  
"Claire, wait," I pleaded but I was met with dial tone and heavily hung up. A doorbell distantly rang downstairs and I carefully put the phone back onto the dresser and walked to the doorway. There were voices downstairs and I tried to gain distinction from them until there were footsteps and I quietly crept down the stairs. Angela was sitting over something on the couch – which apparently was a settee – and an attractive looking man was pacing around her with a grief stricken face and looking uncomfortable to be standing there. I reached the bottom step as he turned to go and startled when he saw me.  
"I'm ... sorry," he said carefully before walking past to shut the front door behind him. I watched him go down the steps to a cab and then driving away until other cars sped past away and towards it. Sobbing cut the observation from my thoughts and I turned to see Angela with her head bent and pressed to the person she was leaning over and her shoulders trembling as she did. I walked around to get a better look and recognized the sharp fall of the hair and the eyes which were now opaque and blurred by the blood dotted on his forehead. Peter. I felt like I was suffocating and gripped for the rail as my knees gave underneath me and I finally sat but felt like I kept going and that the falling didn't stop.

"Ma!" The voice came from the front hall and I looked up from the cushioned bench I was sitting on to see a man come into my line of vision and peer up the staircase. I placed him as the man from the photograph and the name coming to me just as Angela called it.  
"Nathan," she said and he followed the voice into the sitting room where I could hear him sobbing a moment later. I looked down at my hands folded in front of me and feeling guilt as much as grief that I was intruding on their mourning and that I didn't know him well enough to rightfully call myself a part of it. I turned my hands back and forth in front of me, noting that my nails were growing longer and wondering when that happened. Voices became louder and angrier in the next room so I cautiously stood to make my way to it and tangling my fingers into the hem of my sweater so it became frayed in my nerves. Angela and Nathan looked up as I came in; Angela with grief stricken surprise and Nathan with brunt agony that gave brief way to confusion.  
"Who are you?" He asked, fingers still clutched to Peter's shoulders as if to shake sense into him and that it would be enough to wake him up again.  
"Jessica," I said and thought it inappropriate to wave.  
"That doesn't answer my question," he said, brow furrowing so Angela put a hand on his shoulder.  
"Can I say goodbye?" I asked, uncomfortable with answering the question and bringing us back to the moment with avoiding it. "I know I didn't know him well and that I'm intruding on your grief but ... just a moment?" Nathan looked offended that I had asked while Angela discretely sighed and made to leave the room.  
"Let the girl have her moment," she said, an inconvenience that she was indulging me on and her heels echoed loudly out of the room as Nathan reluctantly turned back to his brother before laying him back down and following. The room seemed larger with them gone and with us alone in it. The space seemed too big to cross but somehow I did before I was kneeling in front of him and close enough to brush the hair back from his face. The blood was crusted under my fingers and the line it created almost identical to the one Jackie had. Sylar. I swallowed undeniable hatred and ran my finger down his cheek to imagine I'd find a pulse where I stopped.  
"I ...," the letter choked me so I stopped and tried to think of something – anything – to say but nothing offering itself. I'd met him twice. He was Claire's uncle. He saved my life. He looked at me like I was more then I saw myself. And he was dead. And I was alone.  
"I'm sorry," I said finally and the words not enough for what I meant and should have said. I'm sorry that you're dead. I'm sorry that you saved me when we'd have been better off if you hadn't. I'm sorry that I'll never see your smile again or hear the sound of my name on your lips. I'm sorry ... I'm sorry. My fingers stopped along the line to his ear and I felt something jagged underneath the layers of his hair. I titled his head somewhat until I could see a shard of glass pierced through the back of his head and blood staining the base of it. Without thinking I gripped it as tight as I could in my hand and tugged the piece out so it cut back through skin and brain cells before becoming heavy in my hand and the inches of it that had been buried soaked in dried blood. The result was immediate. His eyes cleared all at once and a rasping breath echoed through his lungs as he coughed and gasped, sitting up and covering his mouth to hide it. I sank back onto my ankles as he finally turned to face me and the shard still held in my hands that crystallized darkly as it turned in the light.  
"Jessica?" He asked and a warm smile touched his lips as he recognized me so I felt the effect of it curling all the way down and curling in my toes. "You saved my life."  
"I guess we're even," I grinned, my chest like holes had been punched in it for air and I could breathe properly again. He mirrored it as he looked at me before reaching out to lightly bob my nose and the touch of it like a shiver twisting and curling underneath my skin.

My knuckles rapped against the pane glass of the door as the man by the desk turned around and I realized my mistake that it was Nathan standing there and not Peter.  
"Oh ... I'm sorry I was looking for Peter," I apologized and feeling awkward that I interrupted him when I already felt like a mite too big.  
"No, that's fine I think he's downstairs," He explained and leaning back against the desk with his legs crossed and arms folded. I nodded and turned to go, my heel turning in the carpet as I went.  
"Wait ...," he called after me so I turned back in the same press of fabric and almost tripped in its refusal to turn back. He stood up properly from his desk and dropped his arms from his chest. "Who are you again?"  
"Jessica," I answered and folding my arms politely in front of me – though limbs don't tend to have manners.  
"That doesn't answer my question," he said with a slightly uneasy smile.  
"Yes it does," I assured him and he waited for me to say more and whether or not it was a joke. "I'm friends with Claire." Putting him out of his misery. He nodded in understanding, the punch line to the joke.  
"And what are you doing here?" He asked, not satisfied with the answer and asking for another to even it out.  
"I'm not really sure ...," I admitted, tangling my fingers and the length of my nails making it harder to do then it used to. Probably why I kept them short. "I came to find Peter and your mother found me first."  
"Oh ... you're the cheerleader?" He asked, finding the pieces and the image they made put together. I nodded, hiding my disdain for the distinction. "Huh." He took that in for a moment, thinking it over and shaping and reshaping it for a better view in his thoughts.  
"And you're the politician?" I asked, taking the hint from the surroundings and guessing it either as that or something equally boring.  
"Uh yes. I'm running for Congress," he said with a mildly proud smile and I could see from how easy it looked that all in all he was a relatively smug person.  
"Cool. I'm not old enough to vote for you," I said with no other idea of what to say. He nodded before it slowed and he raised his eyebrows at me like he didn't know how to answer to that and not as good at hiding it as I was.  
"And if you could would you?" He asked carefully, uncertain as he asked it but not backing out.  
"I don't know. I don't know who else is running," I shrugged and tucked my hands in my back pockets. It went quiet for a moment and I turned various excuses over in my head of ways I could politely leave.  
"So what are your plans?" He tried, rubbing his hands uncomfortably and as casual as if it were Friday night and I was hanging with friends over the weekend.  
"Your moms taking me to Paris," I shrugged the idea not as appealing as it sounded. Though Claire would be there ... in whatever way she greeted me.  
"She warms up," he apologized, noticing my discomfort before beginning to smile. "Kind of."  
"I think I bother her," I almost laughed and feeling more at ease that we felt the same way. He looked down at his shoes to grin before looking back up almost shyly.  
"You seem to have a rather dominant personality. They often clash," he explained like it solved all our problems. I turned the word over in my head for a moment. Dominant. A lot better sounding then abrasive. Or bitch.  
"I guess they would," I nodded, running out of things to say and nothing on top of them to fill their place. I glanced at the door behind me and pretended like I saw something.  
"It was nice talking with you," I said, half stepping from the door as he nodded, relieved to see me leave.  
"You too," he smiled and I turned on my heel again to leave but tired of the shenanigans it tangled me and caused me to trip and fall in my welcome exit.


	20. 120 Five Years Gone

"Hey, Jessica!" The voice came over the pulse of the music and I looked up to see Bethany half standing in the doorway with her hand on her jutted hip and robe slung back to leave it bare. "Someone wants to see you."  
"Who is it?" I asked, cautious that she didn't know their name and ready to find the exit if it was one I didn't want to hear.  
"Some Asian dude," she shrugged, not caring either way and ducked back into the club with a strobe light going after her and for a brilliant moment turning her blue. Fuck. I grabbed my own robe off the back of my chair and slung it over my shoulders so the sleeve swung and narrowly avoided hitting Jane who walked past. She glared at me as she avoided the collision and I belted it around my waist. Suck it up, buttercup. I pushed back the curtain from the exit where the music became even louder and scanned the half empty booths of drooling business men until finding the ones I was looking for who stood out from the natural crowd. I made my way between the tables with the poor lighting barely keeping me in line before I came to where they sat and sliding into the bench.  
"Hello Hiro," I greeted, crossing my legs so the hem of the silk rode up and revealing the length of my thigh. He didn't notice.  
"Jessica," he nodded, his head bent for a second longer than necessary in his customary respect.  
"I'm Ando," the man said eagerly next to him and I fumbled over the name to look at him before clearing my throat and turning back to the objective.  
"What do you want?" I asked, despite the location not a man who came here for the usual comforts.  
"I need to talk to Peter. It's important," he said, voice low but pronounced even over the music and false giggling of girls more interested in the men's wallets then the men themselves.  
"So you come to me?" I asked, leaning back in the seat and reaching for the bowl of candies Don had placed on every one and helping myself to a handful.  
"He listens to you. If no one else you can convince him," he urged, force on the edge of his calm as he leaned forward slightly and the shadows illustrating how much he'd aged and from what was in the years as opposed to the years themselves.  
"And who says I'll talk to him?" I asked, tapping my shoe against the table leg and eating another one of the candies. Ando glanced at the bowl before looking to me and I slid it closer to him as an invitation that he quickly took.  
"Please, Jessica. It's about stopping Sylar," He pressed on the name as he'd know I'd notice and I gritted my teeth on the inside of my lip so I could feel my insides harden and my vision go red.  
"Fine," I said, defeated and not welcoming the vulnerability of it. "I'll talk to him but I can't promise anything. That's all I can give you." He nodded in thanks and I took another handful before standing and turning around the edge of the booth.  
"Do you know where Bennet is?" He asked, calling after me and I stopped with my fingers along the bar running around the back and the eerie color of it in the light.  
"Last I heard he's still in Texas," I allowed and he bowed his head once more and as a dismissal that I could go. I finished my walk around the booth and to the bar where the TV released the news on a loop and Marco was drying glasses.  
"Shot and water," I said, greeting him and sliding into one of the steels and wrapping my ankles around the legs. It pressed coldly against my skin and I closed the robe tighter around me as he poured the two glasses and slid them out in front of me with the water closer. I edged the shot to my side before taking a sip of my own and the taste of it clearing my thoughts and settling them more bearably.  
"You don't have to be here," I said aloud and the empty space next to me shimmered and reshaped so Peter rematerialized in the stool and reaching with his fingers for the glass which made the short distance easily before it was in his grip. "You're getting lazy." He snorted under his breath which briefly tightened the lines of his face and stretched the scar more visible over his nose and between his eyes. I smiled faintly as I leaned on my arms and watched him as he lifted the glass to take a sip before setting it back down to run his fingers around the rim.  
"Give it up for Bethany!" The announcement came over the stage in dramatized excitement while drawing out her name like they used to do before wrestling matches like hearing it said longer would prolong the anticipation. I looked over my shoulder so the length of my hair tied back touched the top of the bar and brushed quietly as it did. Bethany stepped onto the stage with considered sensual movements before beginning her performance on the pole and making brief yet lingering eye contact with each and every men of the turn in hopes they'd think she found them special and pay an extra few dollars in appreciation.  
"I saw you up there. Earlier," he said, noticing where he'd lost my attention and not bothering to look to see what it was. "You hate it."  
"Of course I do," I said, turning back to the bar and taking another sip of my water and wishing it could be something stronger. "It's like cheerleading all over again."  
"Then why do you do it?" He asked, asking the question like I'd changed the answer and testing to see if I would.  
"Because we need the money," I reminded him as I drained the glass and slid it away from me so it scratched the top. "Especially now." An almost shy smile peeked out from the corner of his lips and I was reminded of how optimistic and hopeful he used to be and everything since then that hardened him into the man sitting next to me now.  
"So, what'd he want?" He asked, nodding to where Ando and Hiro were leaving with the same sword over Hiro's shoulder and every step dangerously close to hitting Ando in the face with it. I almost smiled at the old characteristic of it and how it had shaped into one I hardly recognized. Or least of all didn't want to.  
"What do you think?" I tapped my nails over the granite counter and taking comfort in the rhythm. I'd been chewing them again. "Stop Sylar. Save the world. Same message different spelling."  
"And what'd you say?" He wondered, resting his own arm over the counter and turning his glass back and forth with his fingers inches away from touching it.  
"I told him I'd tell you. And so I did," I said pointedly and leaning back in the stool so the back hugged me. He asked. I told him. My part was done. And yet it still weighed on me with pressure applied to where I'd feel it most. The static of the TV turned up and I looked up to the screen which was playing the details of the explosion across it with the same somber but rehearsed message playing over the images as if they thought we could forget and needed to remind us just in case.  
"Of all the days," Peter said with a bitter laugh and glanced over to me where I still watched the screen. The ashes and the burning. The firefighters saving who they could and burying who they couldn't. Five years. Happy Anniversary.  
"Just another day," I said coldly and pulled my hair over my shoulder so I could fiddle with the ends of the strands and stare at how short my nails had gotten even for me. Peter reached over to bring my hand closer to his and ran his lips over the back of my knuckles and kissing each finger tip before holding his chin in my palm so I could touch the scruff of his chin and neck and the pulse just under his skin.  
"What are you going to do?" I asked quietly, thinking of what Hiro said and the weight it carried. If we could stop it ... if we could change things.  
"I don't know. What should I do?" He asked, raising his eyes to mine and resting the fate of it on my shoulders. I ran my thumb back and forth over my jaw and remembered the first time he'd kissed me – how soft his lips had been and how eager he'd been to touch mine. How hopeful he'd been before. How lost he'd become since.  
"I don't want to lose you," I whispered, closing my eyes against the thought and holding it in the darkness where it didn't have a name. Where I could hold it without one and thus keep it false and not something I'd have to confront.  
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, dropping his voice and coming closer so I could taste his breath on my lips and feel his hand press to my stomach with his fingers out and searching. I opened my eyes to put my own hand over is and run my pinky back and forth over his knuckles. He leaned forward so his nose brushed mine and that hesitation we had lost so many years ago before everything had changed and we'd hardened into each other. He brushed closer so his lips were on mine and he kissed me gently once. Twice. Three times before pulling back and resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes again to feel how close he was and whole heartedly knowing the truth of it. I love you, I thought. I love you, I love you, I love you a thousand times I love you and I love you again. I hated myself for pulling away but I did and stood from the stool to go back to the dressing room and feeling him watching me as I went.

Peter's arm materialized as he let go of my hand with his other one outstretched and sending a guard crashing across the room with a yell from the impact. One came at me with his gun outstretched and I grabbed the end of it to slam it back into his face before punching him as hard as he could so he went down at crumbled at my feet. Peter's grip was on my arm again as his features tightened and all at once everything froze in mid-step leaving the two of us untouched. He manoeuvred his way through the frozen figures so I followed and stopped when coming across one of the men. Parkman. His hand was in his jacket – for his gun I presumed – and a startled expression on his face that gave me no sympathy for being the one to cause it. I slowly stepped back on my foot to prolong the moment and watch him before turning back to Peter and his outstretched hand waiting for me. I took it so his fingers threaded through mine before touching my other hand to Ando's knee and bracing myself as a pressure forced itself on me and all at once it was gone.

I walked over to where Ando stood, my boots clicking on the panelling of the floorboards and held out the fraying blanket so he could take it. He smiled briefly at me in thanks and I stood there staring at him in trying to piece him together from memory and too much in the way of it for me to see if he was different.  
"Is it really you?" I asked as Peter came up to stand behind me and I felt the shadow of him on my back.  
"Why are you so surprised to see me?" Ando asked with a disbelieving laugh, enough optimism in him to convince him it was a good reason.  
"He didn't tell you?" Peter asked and Ando followed his gaze down to the unconscious Hiro stretched out on our threadbare couch.  
"What?" Ando asked quietly, already sensing the answer but needing to hear it anyway.  
"You're ... dead," Peter said uncertainly and it went quiet on the words so the three of us stood in the silence as if it could drown out the thought and making it false with nothing to hide it.  
"How?" He asked quietly, turning to look back to us and not sure which one of us would answer.  
"New York. The Bomb," I explained and his eyes lowered to me and the look to them suddenly sad. Peter retreated from my back to the chair across from us and I walked over to join him and sliding onto his lap so he could press his lips to my shoulder before entwining my arm around the back of his neck.  
"Do you remember how he used to be?" He asked, gesturing to Hiro again and his fingers playing over my knee. I entwined my fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck and reminded that they were always the softest. "All full of hope and optimism?"  
"Of course," Ando said uneasily as he opened up the blanket and carefully tucked it around Hiro's sides. "That's the Hiro I know."  
"He went away the day you died," Peter explained like it was a passage from a well read book. "Between us, I think you're the reason why he became so obsessed with trying to change it all back. He wants to save you." Ando didn't say anything in response, his fingers hovering over Hiro's chest and uncertainly looking down at him like he didn't recognize him and one more glance might set that right. The familiar taste of bile churned in the back of my throat and I removed my arm from around Peter to slid off his lap and to another room, the clock on the back wall telling me it was right on schedule. I passed through the doorway to lean over the garbage can and spit into the bottom of it and gasped for breath as the nausea rolled under and through me and waiting for it to pass. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply before setting down the can and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I settled back and onto our bed and brushed my hair back from my face and again examining my nails. They were bloody at the edges from where I'd bitten too hard and I tried not to remember how I first started and the descent my life had taken and how it brought me back to chewing or not chewing my nails. I spit one more time before looking up at the crib Peter had claimed in the corner and slowly stood up to walk over to it. I ran my fingers over the rails and the mobile hanging over it with the plush animals barely turning as I touched it. My hand came down to my stomach through the layers of my shirt and I tried to reconcile myself with it as I had tried a thousand times and only confronted with that indecision of whether or not we'd done the right thing. It was too late to go back on it but it was still there in the shadows and waiting for any doubt to feed on and make it worse. It would have abilities. There was no question about that and it would be hunted for them. Like us. Like all of us. And I was bringing it into that world willingly. I pulled at the decorative straps that criss crossed my front and trying to see if I could see a bump underneath them. If I did it was hidden well and the illusion gave no comfort.  
"You okay?" Peter asked quietly as he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my stomach. I closed my eyes to lean back into him as he pressed his lips down my neck and to my shoulder before resting his chin there and his fingers again searching over the stomach. "The baby okay?"  
"The baby's fine," I promised him and opened my eyes again to see the crib and the delicate details carved into the rails. It had been made for another child before Peter found it and brought it home. But who made it? And what happened to the baby that it was no longer needed? A roll of nausea curled back up in my stomach and I closed my eyes again to hold it back.  
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked, words muffled by my shoulder that he kissed again and rested to prolong it and maybe never let it end. I knew what he was talking about without even having to ask but let the silence stretch like I didn't so I could hold onto the indecision and put off the action that came next.  
"What if I don't want you to?" He wondered, words faltering as he knew my answer and asked it again just in case.  
"You wouldn't stay if I wanted you to," I told him and opened my eyes again as his lips came back up my neck and rested on my ear.  
"I would," he whispered and I ran my hand up his arm to entangle my fingers in his hair and hold him against me where I knew he was safe. Where I knew he was mine.  
"But I wouldn't ask," I said, turning to him so our lips nearly touched and he closed the distance between us to kiss me and feeling it carving out my insides so I pressed closer for the bittersweet taste of it.  
"Okay," he said quietly as I finally pulled away and kissing the tip of my nose. "Okay."

The guards behind the desk pulled back as they recognized it, drawing weapons from their belts and an alarm blaring somewhere that would call others just as quick so I could hear all of them cock as they pointed to the four of us and each one choosing their favored target.  
"Should we freeze time?" Hiro asked conversationally and I slowly turned my back to them to take into account how many guards and the odds of them against us. The thought brought an almost familiar smile to my face and I could see it taunted the one nearest to me so he directed his gun to point at my face.  
"No, I haven't had a good fight in years," Peter shrugged and looked over his shoulder at me as I did the same so our eyes met and I could read the words in them: I love you. I offered him that same smile that angered the guard: I love you too. The three of us split off at the same time and I grabbed Ando's hand to pull him along with me and knowing he'd be defenceless otherwise.  
"What out!" He yelled as three guards came at us at once – which hardly seemed fair considering the body armour and guns – and gathered the adrenaline in me at once so they fell back and hit the opposite wall with cracks as their heads connected and grunts as the pain settled in.  
"Thanks," I said as he followed me now on instinct and I shoved anyone aside with feet of reaching me before hitting another man that tried and cracking his head into the corner of the wall. He choked in pain as he collapsed and I saw the faint trickle of blood underneath his helmet and down his neck. I allowed myself to feel guilt for a moment before it eventually passed. Footsteps came down the hall toward us and Ando scurried behind me as the man was thrown off his feet into another hallway and Peter came out of the one where the hit had taken place with a faintly smug smile on his lips.  
"I had him," I said as he came closer in striding steps.  
"Of course you did," he allowed as he quickly kissed me and kept on walking. I rolled my eyes to follow after him and ushering Ando along behind.

I stepped over one of the bodies littering the hall and into the storage room that Ando had disappeared into and Hiro and Past Hiro with him and the harsh differences between them clearer when side by side.  
"Jessica?" A vaguely voice asked in surprise and I turned to see Mohinder staring at me in shock with the look almost obscured by his thick rim glasses.  
"Mohinder," I nodded as he stepped back and tried to recover.  
"You need to go back now," Hiro said, interrupting the reunion of Past Hiro and Ando with his sword still at his side and blood dripping off the edge.  
"But how do I return to the right moment?" Past Hiro asked, his voice childishly high pitched and the nostalgia of it painful. "I don't know how to do that."  
"I'll take you," Hiro assured him, stepping forward as his back exploded in black and red and the sound splintered my eardrums. Without thinking I swung my hand to the door so the energy more controlled closed it and more gunshots echoing against the metal. Hiro collapsed onto the ground in the arms of Past Hiro and Ando and a small pool of blood spreading out on the concrete and turning it rich in color. Fuck.

Arms grabbed me suddenly from behind and I went backwards through the door and into the hall before I could register it and sliding across the tile so I could turn and bring myself to my feet. Nathan was walking towards me with a smug confidence in his steps that burned the hatred inside of me so I saw red and couldn't see.  
"Dear sweet Jessica," he said with a tsk tsk behind his teeth. "Like always I've seen you've put faith in the wrong cause. The wrong brother."  
"You weren't even a consideration," I said coldly as I he got closer and I could see the haughty look in his eyes as I saw every time he appeared on the TV with the lies on his tongue and promise that he could fix them. "But then again Nathan can't walk through walls, can he?"  
"No. He can't," he admitted and in mid step his details changed and re-morphed so I was staring at Sylar coming towards me and the same smirk on his lips. "But I can." I took a step back in shock and swallowed a sudden dryness on my tongue. No ... he was dead ...  
"Did you miss me, Jessica?" He wondered, head tilted and the fluorescent light eerie on his face. "I sure missed you." His gaze crawled over my skin as he looked me up and down and that smile widened. "You're still oh so beautiful."  
"Really? Because I preferred you as Nathan," I taunted, my fingers digging into my palm and making lines along my fingers. Peter, where are you?  
"It's not to late you know," he promised with a laugh at my insult like it was funny I'd thought it would hurt. "You can still choose to join the winning side." I pretended to consider it, exaggerating the look so he knew I wasn't.  
"No thanks. I don't side with murders," I said, apologetically and an over done cheer to my tone.  
"How hypocritical," he said almost sadly and then his hand was outstretched with his fingers reaching and a bolt of electricity came from them before I could react and hitting me square in the stomach. I fell back ten – twenty – maybe thirty feet before I hit the floor and I could hear screaming in my head and a bright light flashing brighter and brighter until it blinded me. My limbs were twitching and I could taste bile and in some distant recesses of my mind I knew I was dying. There wasn't peace like I thought there would be. There was pain and a sudden sadness that seemed to suffocate me with two words before everything stilled and went dark: the baby.


End file.
